Katabasis
by littlebigspoon
Summary: (His Dark Materials/Daemons crossover) After the Battle of Five Armies, Bilbo lies as still as death, and no earthly force will wake him. When a ghostly apparition offers Thorin the chance to recover Bilbo's absent spirit from the underworld, he accepts without hesitation. So begins the second Quest of Thorin's lifetime. (Bilbo/Thorin)
1. Prologue

**Full summary: **

**After the Battle of Five Armies, Bilbo lies as still as death, and no earthly force will wake him. When a ghostly apparition offers Thorin the chance to recover Bilbo's absent spirit from the underworld, he accepts without hesitation.**

**So begins the second Quest of Thorin's lifetime.**

**Through half-remembered dreams and terrifying nightmares, beyond strange worlds to stranger shores, the Heirs of Durin will tirelessly, doggedly search for their burglar.**

**This is their task, their penance: find Bilbo, or else be condemned to wander forever more, never to return home.**

* * *

Beneath carven stone and sheer rock, under the immeasurable weight of the earth suspended by Dwarven ingenuity, there lay a hobbit who would not wake.

The Lonely Mountain echoed with life, for by the steady hands of the Dwarves the kingdom of Erebor was being made anew. The great gates, flanked by its colossal guardians of stone, stood open day and night, welcoming its returning people to the comforting dark of its halls. At all hours the belly of the mountain rang with joyous voices and hammer-blows, and the deep depths glowed crimson-red with the light of blazing forge fires.

And yet, even as the Dwarves laboured, and were happy in their work (for Dwarves are always happiest when they have work), and made their pleasure at the reclamation of their home known, there were some among them who could not fully enjoy the celebrations in good conscience. For while the Dwarves of Erebor laughed and sang and feasted in their hallowed halls, setting the cavernous walls echoing with the sounds of merriment, deep, deep in the dark of the mountain, there was a room that stood silent and still, in stubborn contrast to the city that surrounded it.

At the heart of the mountain a hobbit slept, and he would not wake.

When the Battle of Five Armies had been won and Azog's forces utterly decimated, the mountainside had been left drenched in blood, its foothills obscured by the bodies of the fallen, the Desolation of Smaug made into a graveyard for Man, Elf, Dwarf and orc alike. From that bloody wreckage, a single hobbit had been recovered. It had been Bofur who had found him, half-buried under the body of a fallen elf, the hobbit's mithril shirt shining at his throat, the bright sparkle of the metal enough to catch Bofur's eye in amongst the muck and grime and horrors of the battlefield. With a great cry the dwarf had hastened to free his friend from the litter of corpses, fearful that Bilbo, too, had lost his life. But scratches and bruises aside, Bilbo had been miraculously unharmed, his life no doubt saved by his mithril shirt, his cunning and his magic ring – and likely in that order. And yet, as impervious as the chainmail had proved to be, it had not been able to Bilbo from a simple blow to the head.

With help from his cousin, Bofur had carried Bilbo to the healing tents and there, surrounded by his relieved friends, the hobbit had slept. And slept. And _slept_, with no sign of waking. Óin had driven himself to exhaustion by nursing Bilbo day and night, attempting every method and medication his keen mind could think of, putting his long years of experience to the test - but still Bilbo would not wake. Gandalf had sat with the old dwarf, trying magicks and medicine in equal measure – Elvish medicine, no doubt, with a touch of something else he refused to put name to – and puffing away at his pipe. But even the resourceful wizard could do nothing for his friend, and his countenance had grown graver and graver with every day that had passed.

Even the Elves had attempted to rouse the halfling, though only the once, for their visit to Bilbo's tent had been so fraught with tension that to try again would have been foolhardy in the extreme, so strained were relations between the races.

Bilbo had slept through it all without a twitch or a flicker of life, oblivious to the efforts of his friends and allies. Despondent and helpless, the Dwarves had been left with no choice but to carry Bilbo's body into the shelter of the mountain, there to set him in room of his own, hidden away from prying eyes and attended to daily by Óin.

Now, two months later, the Company of Thorin Oakenshield still found itself short one member, and their hard-won victory was blunted by grief.

For a hobbit lay at the heart of the mountain, and he would not wake.

* * *

The room had, once upon a time, been the private study of Thorin's grandmother. It was one of those odd curiosities that hardly anyone outside of the Royal Family knew about - a small, hidden-away space with only one entrance, deliberately placed in what Thorin's grandmother had considered 'the heart of the mountain'. She had been very particular about the sparseness of its decoration, insistent on bare walls and minimal architectural accents, and as a result the room was austere in the extreme - at least in comparison to the rest of the expansive Royal rooms. Thorin remembers that she would often disappear to this room for hours on end, to think and sit in silence, musing over the day's difficult decisions and upcoming trade negotiations. She had loved her family dearly, and her husband had without a doubt been her One, but she had also been the kind of dwarf who had needed a couple of hours every day on her own, away from the bustle of court life.

The rotting furniture had all been cleared away, her books returned to the family library. In their place at the very centre of the room stood a makeshift bed. On said bed, wrapped in bed sheets and with his head pillowed on a cushion, lay Bilbo Baggins.

Bilbo's skin was pale, stretched too tight over the bones of his face. Time, illness and lack of proper sustenance had carved away the plumpness of his cheeks, unearthing hard cheekbones and sharp, jutting angles. His eyes were sunken, his head of curls washed and clean but lacking the sheen of the healthy. Someone – likely Ori – had braided one side of Bilbo's hair, just in front of his ear. It surely had to have been Ori - no one else could have so cleverly combined the braids for _friendship, hope_ and _good luck_, weaving them together so each style was recognisable, yet intermingled to create a new, unique braid.

By the hobbit's bedside stood a King.

Thorin had no clue as to why he came here each and every day, after the sixth bell but before the seventh that heralded the end of the work day and the beginning of the evening meal. Such uncertainty over his own inclinations annoyed Thorin almost to distraction, and caused a niggling sensation at the back of his mind. Besides, it was hardly as though Thorin's visit ever had any effect, or would in the future. Bilbo never stirred, never gave any indication as to whether his state would ever change. But day after day Thorin found himself putting aside his work, sparing a few minutes to stand by the hobbit in utter silence, to leave with his heart heavy and yet strangely satisfied by this adherence to what he assured himself was his duty. He comforted himself with the thought that, had any other member of the Company been in the same position, he would have done exactly the same thing.

Though the difference was that he and Bilbo could hardly be called friends, not when they had parted on such terrible terms.

But they _had_ shared a Journey together, and Bilbo's friendship with the rest of the Company had been unaffected by his exile, if their constant visiting was anything to go by. Dwarven duty dictated that they honour that, although none of them knew how to solve this dilemma they found themselves in. They could not send Bilbo home to his family – Óin doubted Bilbo could survive the journey back, especially not in the onset of winter. Even if they could, who would look after him? There was no wife, no children awaiting Bilbo's return, and the hobbit had never named any close family members. They could not bury him. The thought was too horrifying to contemplate. Even now Bilbo's chest rose and fell in tiny slivers of breath, noticeable only under scrutiny.

They could do little else but continue to nurse him, though even this decision was deeply unsatisfying, for while Bilbo continued to breathe, day by day he grew thinner and weaker, in spite of all of Óin's efforts to the contrary. One day, Thorin, knew, the hobbit's body would simply stop breathing, unable to work up the strength to expand his lungs.

It was, he thought, entirely appropriate for Bilbo to be as much of a nuisance in unconsciousness as he had been awake.

It was warm here, though the walls and high ceilings were hardly of any use in the retention of heat. But the forges had been awoken in Erebor's depths, and there was not an inch of the mountain that was not suffused with warmth. Still, the hobbit might soon need furs in addition to his bed sheets, and Thorin made a mental note to bring this to Óin's attention when he saw the dwarf next. It was quiet, too, save for the flickering of the torches in their brackets. He felt cumbersome and overdressed in his courtly armour in a room so devoid of decoration, and he was glad that he was entirely alone so that no one could bear witness to his discomfort, or his awkward stance by Bilbo's bed as a result of his refusal to sit on the spare chair.

But, unbeknownst to Thorin, he was not as alone as he hoped, for over by the arched doorway stood two dwarves, hidden away in the shadows of the corridor.

'What's he doing?' whispered Kíli.

Fíli signed back at him. _Shut up_.

Kíli shot him a look, but raised his hands to sign, _this is boring_.

His brother glared at him. _This was your idea,_ he said, his hands moving quickly and silently through the Iglishmêk. _What were you expecting?_

Kíli let out a small sigh, subsiding into silence once more. After a minute of watching Thorin stand beside Bilbo's bed, he said, _I would have thought he'd at least talk or._ He trailed off with a shrug, hands falling to his side.

_We need to leave,_ said Fíli.

Kíli didn't bother with signing his vehement agreement. He gave a sharp nod, conveying his confusion at his Uncle's strange behaviour through his expression. Fíli rolled his eyes in response, as if to say, _it's Thorin, what did you expect?_

They turned to depart, their tread careful, but before they could steal away from the shelter of the shadows, Thorin suddenly turned on his heel and started to march straight for them. There was now no way that Kíli and Fíli could escape without being seen, and a hurried, flurried series of hand gestures and pointed looks followed in quick succession, the brothers trying to desperately decide on a plan of action before their Uncle discovered them.

They needn't have bothered. Thorin paused, his stride faltering, coming to stand halfway between the bed and the doorway. Kíli and Fíli froze, thinking they had been spotted, but their Uncle's attention was clearly elsewhere, and to their surprise he began to speak aloud into the deathly quiet of the room.

'I have been thinking,' he said with uncharacteristic hesitance. 'I have been considering that, perhaps…perhaps if…' he trailed off, his voice echoing faintly on the stone walls.

'And at last, you begin to understand,' said a voice.

Thorin whipped around, Orcrist out of its sheath and in his hand in the space of a heartbeat, the metal singing as it was drawn free to be held defensively in front of his body, focus entirely on the voice's source, which had issued from beyond Bilbo's bed.

And he gaped at what he saw there.

A tall figure stepped forwards, as tall as an Elf but with the blunted ears of a Man, and utterly unlike anything Thorin had seen before. Ragged, bleached-white robes trailed out behind her, dragging over the floor in a rasp. Her dress was too big by far for her starved frame, and hung loose about her hips and shoulders. Her pale, pale skin was stretched too tightly over her bones, her clavicles protruding sharply, the top of her ribcage visible under her shifting, translucent skin. Lank, long white hair fell heavily over her narrow shoulders, and her face held the suggestion of beauty, and youth, once, but gauntness had robbed any hint of it from her visage.

'Who are you?' Thorin demanded of the spectre, his grip on Orcrist never faltering.

She smiled, a bare movement of her bloodless lips, and raised a spider-like hand to gesture.

Twin cries of aggression erupted from behind Thorin. Kíli and Fíli burst forward from their hiding place, standing defensively either side of Thorin, a sword in Fíli's hand, a throwing axe in the other, Kíli with an arrow notched and at full draw.

Thorin would find time to berate them for their spying later.

The woman's hand paused in its rise, fluttered back to her side. 'Peace, heirs of Durin,' she said, her voice a bare, grating whisper.

'Step away from him!' snapped Kíli.

'The hobbit,' she said, turning to look down at Bilbo, 'has nothing to fear from me.'

She stepped forwards, towards Bilbo's bed. Thorin let out a shout and sprung forward to intercept her, but Kíli's arrow and Fíli's throwing axe got there first. Both passed through her and continued, their flights uninterrupted until they hit the far wall with a clatter.

The woman, as though nothing untoward had occurred, placed a hand on Bilbo's forehead, her touch light. Kíli immediately took another arrow from his quiver, but uncertainty now clouded his face, and he kept darting quick looks towards Thorin every few seconds.

She straightened gracefully. 'You cannot hurt me. I am unwilling to hurt you,' she said. 'It seems we are at an impasse.'

'Who are you?' said Thorin.

'It does not matter,' she said.

'What do you _want_?' said Fíli.

Her grey, hollow eyes flicked over to Fíli, and Thorin had to restrain from instinctively putting himself between Fíli and the apparition.

'A better question,' she said, and Thorin thought he saw something like malicious humour in her impassive expression.

'I am here to offer you a choice.'

'Whatever you are offering,' growled Thorin, 'we will have _none_ of it.'

'Do not be so hasty, King Under the Mountain. What I offer is not a gift, freely given, or easily won. I am merely here to point the way.'

'To what?' said Fíli.

She stalked forwards, stepping around the end of the bed. The stubborn Dwarves held their ground, not budging an inch, and she came to a stop a few paces in front of them. Thorin saw that her feet were bare and mired in mud, her calves streaked with dirt.

'Your friend hovers between life and death,' she said. 'He has not yet reached Mandos' Halls, but given time, he will. But it does not have to be so.'

'What do you mean?' prompted Kíli, frowning down the length of his drawn arrow, which was still pointed unerringly at her heart.

'His spirit no longer inhabits his body. It is…elsewhere. Waiting.' She cocked her head to one side, as if listening for something only she could hear. Thick ropes of hair shifted over her shoulders at the movement, and Thorin could have sworn he heard the tendons and muscles of her thin neck creak and strain.

'This is why he does not wake. But his spirit can be…retrieved.'

Fíli gave a little shake of his head, drawn in by her whispering words in spite of himself. 'How?' he asked, the question slipping out against his will.

'Enough!' snapped Thorin, 'I say again, _we do not want what you offer_. Leave us in peace.'

Scorn slipped into her countenance.

'Would you leave him to die before his time?' she said, and her soft, rasping voice had taken on a hard edge. 'Are you content to sit idly by and do nothing while he wastes away? I offer you the chance to put things right. Would you refuse it so easily?'

Thorin was silent. The tip of Orcrist began to fall slowly towards the floor.

'Why help us? What reason is there to trust you?' said the King after a moment of quiet.

'I will not say. You must accept that I merely want to help, and my reasons for doing so are my own. I say again, all I can do is show you the way. The rest is up to you.' Slowly, she raised her arm to point to the door behind them.

Kíli lowered his bow and turned to look. Thorin barked out something harsh to him in Khuzdul at such foolish behaviour – his nephew should know better than to turn his back on an enemy. But Fíli was soon following, having caught sight of his brother's expression.

'Thorin,' said Fíli quietly. 'Thorin, _look_.'

'What is it?' said Thorin.

'The corridor…it's _gone_,' answered Kíli.

Thorin glared at the woman, heart full to the brim with suspicion.

'What do you mean?'

'I mean exactly that. It's not there any more.'

'Kíli, that is imposs-' said Thorin, finally turning around, and his assertions died in his throat.

The corridor, lined with torches blazing cheerfully, was gone. In its place was…nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not even the light from the room seemed to be able to penetrate the endless darkness that lay beyond the threshold. Thorin shuddered, his mind trying - and failing - to explain the disturbing emptiness.

'You will find many things along the way that are impossible,' said the spectre, interrupting their shocked silence, 'should you chose this path.'

'What…what _is_ it?' croaked Fíli.

'It is a road, between this life and the next. Step through that door and you will find yourself in another place entirely.'

'A road to where?' said Thorin.

'To the hobbit,' said the woman simply.

Fíli let out a noisy breath, looking in askance to Thorin.

'The way is fraught with danger, and strife,' she said when Thorin said nothing. 'It will not be easy. You may fail - it is likely you will. In all the Ages of this world, only a handful of people have ever walked this path.'

'How many returned?' asked Kíli. He was still staring into the void, expression lost.

'None. Save one.'

'Who?'

'It is of little consequence,' she said with a shake of her head.

'This is not possible,' Thorin murmured, 'I have never heard of such a thing.'

'And yet, here you are. In this, Thorin, as in all else, let your heart rule your head. You know I speak the truth.'

Thorin stood, Orcrist in hand, saying nothing, and the woman hammered the last nail home on the coffin:

'I ask you, Thorin Oakenshield: how far would you go for the life of one hobbit?'

Fíli caught Kíli's eye, and saw his own distress written across his brother's face. They watched, helplessly, as the latent suspicion slipped from Thorin's expression and his chin lifted, his stance settling into something very familiar to Kíli and Fíli both: resolve.

'You must tell Balin of all that has happened here,' said Thorin. 'You must tell Dain, too. I do not know how long this path is, or if I shall ever return.'

He turned back to look over his shoulder at the woman, sheathing Orcrist.

'I cannot tell you how long it will take,' she said in answer to the unaired question, 'or if you will be successful in your task. Even if you should reach the lands where he waits, the hobbit may not want to return. You must convince him otherwise.'

Thorin gave a small nod, his eyes never once alighting on Bilbo's sleeping form. He put a one hand on each of his nephews' shoulders, looking at them in turn.

'You will stay here,' he said.

'Thorin-' began Fíli, but Thorin quelled his protests with a look.

'Erebor needs you. _I_ need you to stay here.'

'But we could help,' said Kíli, tone sharp with anger, 'you can't do this alone.'

'I can, and I will. You will obey me in this,' he said tersely, 'it may be the last order I give to you, and you _will_ adhere to it. Understood?'

They nodded, clearly unhappy but unable to argue with their King.

In contrast to his harsh words, Thorin pulled them both forwards into a tight, brief embrace, releasing them after a moment and turning away to face the darkness. He reached inside his heavy coat, drawing out a small bead from an inside pocket. He held it in his palm, clenching his hand into a fist so tightly that the pattern from the bead would surely be imprinted on his skin.

'If I don't return,' said Thorin, 'tell your mother what happened here. Tell her I… tell her I had no choice.'

With that he strode forwards, into the darkness. As soon as he stepped into the strange nothingness that lay beyond the door, his form vanished entirely from Kíli and Fíli's sight.

The room returned to its unsettling quiet once more. The darkness remained. Kíli glanced at where the apparition had stood watch, expecting her to have vanished altogether, her task complete. But he almost flinched when he saw her still standing by Bilbo's bed, something akin to humour crinkling the edges of her dull eyes.

Kíli looked at the threshold.

'He'll be very angry,' he said, casually.

'Furious,' agreed Fíli.

'I don't think he'll ever forgive us.'

'Probably not.'

A pause.

'Still, though,' said Kíli. 'Can't let him go alone.'

They looked at each other. A wild, reckless grin lit up Kíli's face. A small smile graced Fíli's.

Fíli looked back to where Bilbo slept on, oblivious to all that had passed.

'Sit tight, Bilbo,' he said. 'We're coming for you.'

And together, they stepped over the threshold.


	2. Chapter One

Stepping into the darkness was akin to being submersed in water without getting wet. It was the same sensation of pressure on his skin, enclosing him completely until he was forced to shut his eyes against it. It hardly mattered if his eyes were open or not, in any case – the world that surrounded him was as dark as the inside of his eyelids.

He strode forward, not allowing himself to falter even for a second. Two steps more and without warning the pressure dissipated altogether, replaced by the feel of fresh air against his face and hands. Thorin took a deep breath and opened his eyes, and found that he was standing in the middle of a forest.

Impossible. But in some way it was comforting; the very fact that he was standing here, miles from Erebor in the blink of an eye meant that the apparition had, in part at least, been telling the truth.

Tall, gnarled trees surrounded him on all sides, and their trunks and green-brown leaves were drained of colour, as though they had faded under the pale sunlight that fell through the canopy. The ground was uneven and hilly, and there was no path to be seen. It was as quiet as Mirkwood, and Thorin did not like it one bit.

Five seconds later, Kíli and Fíli appeared out of thin air directly behind Thorin.

He should have known better than to think they would not follow, but anger flooded him all the same.

'A forest?' said Kíli, 'this better not-'

'How _could_ you?' snapped Thorin, interrupting Kíli's wide-eyed observation of their surroundings. 'What in the name of Mahal do you think you are doing here?'

He watched, detached, as Kíli cowed at the vehement anger in his voice, but only for a moment – a very familiar stubbornness swept it aside. Fíli was no better, his face a mask of stony-eyed resolve. It stoked the fires of Thorin's anger at them even higher.

'I asked you to stay behind. I _ordered _you. I am disappointed in the both of you. I would expect such foolishness from Kíli, but not from _you_, Fíli.'

'Thorin, we couldn't let you-'

'I will not hear your excuses. You have left Erebor without a King, and with no word of our intent. What do you think will happen, Kíli? They will think us dead, or kidnapped. The whole of Erebor will turn itself inside out looking for us. Did you not think of the consequences?'

Kíli's head lowered, and _there_ was the shame that Thorin had expected.

'No, you did not. Erebor is unstable enough as it is. Now you have brought chaos and confusion to the mix.'

'Thorin,' said Fíli at last, 'Balin will know what to do, and Daín left the mountain not two days ago – he can be easily recalled and asked to stand in as regent. He and the Company will not allow Erebor to fall in our absence.'

Fíli paid no attention to the incredulous look his brother shot at him. His gaze was steady and strong, and did not falter, even in the face of Thorin's disappointment.

'Would you so easily give up your birthright?' said Thorin in a low hiss. 'You speak as though you have thought this through, Fíli, but I know you have not. Your reasoning was made up in mere seconds.'

He shook his head, at a loss at what to do with the both of them.

'The way back's closed,' said Fíli. 'You are angry at us, which is only right, and I am sorry we disobeyed you-'

'Yes, I _am_ sorry.'

'-but we have no choice but to press on with you. What's done is done.'

'If you think every decision can be made on a whim, and then carry on without regret, then you are far from ready to be Crown Prince of Erebor,' said Thorin tersely, turning to walk away, but not before he saw the hurt flash across Fíli's face.

He kept walking, into the forest, eager to have some manner of release for his anger. He had not felt like this for many weeks, and the deep thrum of anger in his gut unnerved him. After a few moments, he heard the tell-tale crunch of two pairs of boots stomping over the hard ground, his nephews left with no choice but to follow him.

They marched in a self-imposed silence that neither Kíli nor Fíli dared break. Thorin was quite content to let them both stew in their own thoughts for a while, and think over the consequences of their actions. Fíli, especially, had surprised him by coming here. He had thought his eldest sister-son had grown out of the impulsiveness of his youth as a result of their journey, but he was clearly mistaken. It was a side of Fíli's character that he would surely have to control, if he ever hoped to succeed Thorin as King.

The forest grew thicker as they walked, and when Thorin glanced up once or twice to the thick ceiling of leaves, he saw nothing but slate-grey sky above. It was, thankfully, less oppressive than Mirkwood here, but unlike Mirkwood there was a distinct lack of sound – not a hint of a bird, nor any small creature hurrying through the undergrowth. There was only the occasional rustle from a falling leaf, and the sound of their heavy boots snapping twigs underfoot.

They began to descend downhill, the land becoming more and more uneven and stony, full of sudden, steep hills and rocky outcrops. There was nothing to record time by – the sun never made an appearance in the blank sky above, and the light never dimmed. Thorin, his ire settling into a background buzz, began to think of supplies. While he was not hungry yet, by nightfall he surely would be, and knowing Kíli and Fíli they would be hungrier still. But with no hint of game – not even a footprint or tell-tale droppings on the ground – he wondered what they might eat. They hadn't even passed any berries or fruits. The forest seemed completely barren, save for the dull leaves on the trees.

'How,' started Kíli hesitantly, breaking the silence at last, 'how do you know where we're going?'

The question made Thorin pause. Until now, he had simply picked a direction and set off, intent on cooling his anger. Now that Kíli had questioned it, he realised that they hadn't been going in circles, as is common when a dwarf tries to navigate through a forest without a path or a map. They were instead heading in one distinct direction.

'I don't know that we are going anywhere,' said Thorin over his shoulder, his voice flat, 'I only know that we couldn't stay in one place.'

'But we're heading _somewhere_,' Kíli insisted, his tone less hesitant now Thorin had responded. 'We're not going around and around in circles. So, how can you tell?'

'I don't know,' said Thorin, and he hated every word of it.

He knew, without even looking, that Kíli and Fíli were signing behind his back. He paid it no mind, focusing instead on the certain knowledge that they were heading the right direction. He could not explain how he knew, and if he tried to put it into words he would likely fail to explain the way that all of his well-honed instincts were all but screaming at him that this was the right path.

He was about to tell them to keep moving, if only to stop their secret conversation behind his back, but a sudden, brutal tug deep in the very centre of his chest sent him stumbling, and he doubled-over, reeling in something like pain, but not quite.

'Thorin!' said Fíli, he and his brother hurrying forward to help him, hands straying towards weapons, 'what-'

But then Fíli was doubling over with a cry, throwing out a hand to stop himself from falling, his fingers digging into the bark of the nearest tree. Kíli, terrified, glanced back and forth between them both, hands hovering between Uncle and brother. He did not have long to feel helpless – soon he himself was slumping, clutching at his chest, gasping for breath.

It felt as though someone had reached into Thorin's ribcage, through bone and muscle, to take a hold of his heart and _pull_. He gritted his teeth, hand fumbling for Kíli's shoulder through the haze of sensation. He couldn't stand a moment more of it, and then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it vanished completely.

Thorin took a breath though gritted teeth. 'Are you alright,' he demanded, 'are you _alright_?' he said again when they failed to respond.

Fíli raised a hand. His face was too pale by far. 'I'm fine, though I've no clue as to what just happened.'

'Kíli?'

'Me too,' Kíli said from his seat on the forest floor, taking great gulps of air. 'What…what on Middle Earth was _that_?'

'I don't know,' Thorin said again.

'Were we under attack? Was it a spell?' suggested Kíli.

Fíli gave a little shrug of his shoulders and helped Kíli to his feet. Thorin straightened, scanning the trees for any sign of life, but no matter how much he strained his eyes, he found no sign of anything untoward.

'It's passed, whatever it was,' said Fíli.

'Let's just hope it won't return. Perhaps this is a cursed patch of land,' suggested Thorin, 'it might be wise to move on, if you are both well enough to walk.'

'We're well. Just a little unnerved,' said Kíli, rubbing at his chest, his mouth turned down at the edges.

'Lead on,' said Fíli.

'Keep your eyes sharp, and your weapons to hand,' Thorin said, and recommenced their march.

After a few minutes more of walking, the land banked suddenly downhill, and a low-lying mist began to form through the trees, casting a haze over the forest and blurring the already weak light. Their line of sight was already hampered by the trees; mist on top of that was hardly helpful, and it was growing thicker and thicker by the second. Thorin threw off his previous introspection and focused on their surroundings, on every rustle of the leaves and every shadow. He was so alert, so tense, that when something did happen to break the quiet, his heart skipped a beat in surprise.

A high, piercing call echoed through the forest.

Thorin shared a glance with each of his nephews. The sound was utterly unmistakable to each of them. _Wolf_.

'Clearly, we are not as alone as I first thought,' said Thorin, before saying, _stay quiet, stay low_ in Iglishmek.

Wolves were not often a threat to Dwarves. The two species tended to stay firmly out of each other's way, save for a few incidences of livestock being preyed upon during particularly harsh winters. But in this previously empty forest, Thorin was taking no chances. They had already had one unexplained attack, and he wouldn't put it past this strange place to have wolves that would be so bold as to prey upon Dwarves.

The howl died away, and was not joined in song by another of its pack. Perhaps it was a lone wolf, then. Even better. The three of them could certainly take down a single wolf, even in a setting where a sharp-eyed animal would have the advantage.

They started forwards again, their tread as quiet as they could manage.

A series of barks and odd yips, from somewhere deep in the forest, startled Kíli badly enough that he bumped into his brother. Whatever _that_ was, it was far closer than the wolf. Thorin, frowning, took note of the way Kíli's eyes darted around the forest, far too intent on the barking than was called for. If it had been a dog, then it was of less concern than the wolf.

'Kíli?' prompted Fíli quietly, and Kíli blinked confusedly.

'Fíli,' he said, 'I don't think-'

Another howl interrupted whatever he had been about to say. Much closer, this time – too close for comfort. Thorin tensed, his hand finding the hilt of Orcrist. They needed clearer ground, high ground preferably – their line of sight was far too limited by the trees and the mist.

Fíli looked to Thorin. 'Are we being hunted?'

'We need to move,' said Thorin, '_now_.'

Fíli seemed to have the same thought in mind. He grabbed a hold of Kíli's arm, urging his brother forward, putting him in between Fíli and Thorin. As he hurried to follow, he scanned the landscape, but the mist had by now thickened to fog, and what little sunlight they had had was dimming rapidly. If they were about to be attacked, it couldn't have come at a worse moment.

More barking, and Kíli's stride stuttered. Fíli pushed a hand to his brother's back – there was no time to worry about whatever had come over him. Thorin strode on ahead of them, almost jogging, leading them to where the trees seemed to thin.

A low wolf-song, so close it felt as though it had come from just a few metres away, caused them to pick up their speed, and Fíli was grateful when they emerged into a small clearing. If they were being hunted, then at the very least they would now be able to see the beasts coming.

'Kíli, your bow,' said Thorin, Orcrist already unsheathed and in his hand.

Fíli took out both his swords, standing closer to Kíli than he usually would, trying to bite back the admonishment on the tip of his tongue as Kíli _fumbled_ with his bow and arrow. Fíli hadn't seen him do that since he was a dwarfling.

But then there came a yowling, and Fíli lowered his guard in shock. The sound had caused a stirring in his heart, a warmth that was akin to the feeling of returning home to kin and hearth after a long day of labour.

'Fíli! Kíli!' Thorin all but shouted at them, no longer bothering to keep his voice low. Reflexively, Kíli brought bow and arrow up in the direction of the last howl, but Thorin could see his hand shaking from where he stood.

Something disturbed the undergrowth to their left, close to where Kíli had taken up position, whatever it was noisily making its way towards them with no concern for stealth.

Kíli lowered his bow.

Torn between fear and anger for his nephew, Thorin's first instinct was to step forwards and pull Kíli back, perhaps shake him from whatever enchantment had ensnared him. But Kíli, oblivious to the worry he was causing and against all logic, dropped bow and arrow to his side and fell to a crouch, one arm outstretched as if to coax a shy dog from its hiding place.

'Kíli-'

'Uncle, it's alright,' said Kíli, briefly throwing Thorin a bright smile over his shoulder, 'it's _alright_-'

A huge, four-legged creature burst from the undergrowth and all but tackled Kíli to the ground. Thorin raised his sword to strike out at Kíli's attacker, but hesitation stayed his blade. Was Kíli – was Kíli _laughing_?

He was. His weapons had been thrown aside, his hands instead preoccupied with the task of fending off what could only be described as a small, brown-grey wolf licking his face.

'Kíli,' Thorin said again, more cautiously this time. The creature's bushy tail was wagging so hard Thorin might have taken it for a dog, but there was no mistaking its powerful build and the sleek, predatory line of its muzzle and head.

Thorin tore his eyes away from the sight, hoping to find a common cause in Fíli. His hopes were soon dashed, however, when his gaze alighted on his heir. Fíli was stood with his back to Thorin, his swords lowered and all but slipping from his hands, attention glued to the beast that stood watching him.

_This_ four legged creature was smaller than the wolf currently playfully nipping at Kíli's fingers. Its features were sharper, body leaner, tail shorter, and its pelt was a wondrous, rich gold, paling to a creamy-yellow on its belly and chest. It was watching Fíli curiously, and there was no sign of aggression in its stance. Slowly, as though not to spook it, Fíli sheathed his swords and did as Kíli had done, dropping to his knees and stretching out one hand in offering.

The golden wolf padded forwards, and Thorin sucked in a breath. It stopped short of Fíli's hand, sniffing it, before lowering its head. Fíli, his young face full of wonder, placed a careful hand on its neck, sinking his fingers into the thick golden fur.

'We were looking for you!' said a voice.

Kíli gasped, his movements stilling instantly. 'You can _speak_,' he accused of the wolf, for the words had undeniably issued from the beast's mouth.

'Of course we can,' huffed the wolf.

'This is an enchantment of some kind,' said Thorin faintly, struggling to comprehend this new turn of events.

Beorn's animals had been frighteningly intelligent, and the Eagles of Manwë had spoken to them the night of their rescue, but both instances had had precedent; Gandalf had known about Beorn's animals and not thought them strange at all, and there was not a denizen of Middle Earth that did not know of the intelligence of the Eagles of Manwë. This, however, was another matter entirely, and for the third time that day Thorin found himself completely at a loss.

'No, it's not,' disagreed Fíli's wolf. 'I'm as real as you are.'

'Where did you come from?' said Fíli. 'It feels like - like I _know_ you.'

'That's how I feel, too,' admitted Kíli quietly.

'I don't know,' said the golden wolf, 'I only remember waking up in this forest and smelling you, and knowing I had to be with you. I know your name is Fíli, and I think…I think _I_ have a name, too…'

It trailed off, head tilted, and Fíli softly said, 'Lukhudith.'

The wolf's large ears flicked up. 'yes, that's it!' it exclaimed. 'That's it exactly!' and it proceeded to bounce around Fíli, nudging him in the side with its nose. 'You're Fíli and I'm Lukhudith.'

Its excitement was absorbed by the brown-grey wolf, who lowered itself on its forepaws and hopped from side to side. 'And I'm, I'm-'

'Nârù,' said Kíli with absolute certainty.

'Nârù!' the wolf yipped, pushing its head into Kíli's hands. 'And you're Kíli.'

'But I don't understand,' said Kíli, even as he put a hand out to steady Nârù, 'what _are_ you?'

'That is exactly what I would like to know,' said Thorin, and his nephews and both wolves turned to him in surprise, as though they had forgotten he was there. 'They seem to mean you no harm, but that ghost warned us we may meet many strange things along the way.' He shook his head a little, watching the two little wolves carefully. 'I still think this to be some trick.'

A low growl, far lower than either of the two wolves could ever have achieved, sounded from directly behind him, and all of his musings were forgotten in lieu of turning to face this newcomer. A chill ran down his spine as a huge, powerful creature emerged from the mist, the fog rolling off its haunches to reveal the form of a mighty wolf.

Whatever Nârù and Lukhudith were, they were certainly not wolves, nor could Thorin believe he had ever mistaken them as such, not when confronted by the real thing. The wolf stalked forwards, stopping short of the edge of the clearing, and Thorin raised Orcrist once more, ready to defend them from the threat.

The wolf stood unmoving, staring at Thorin impassively with clear golden eyes. Thorin tensed, expecting an attack at any moment – he would not put it past the wolf to leap upon them without warning, even if it was severely outnumbered. But a long moment passed in which the wolf neither retreated nor moved towards them, and it seemed utterly unconcerned about the weapon in Thorin's hand.

'Thorin,' said Fíli carefully, 'Thorin, I have no idea what they are, but what if, what if that one is _yours_?'

'He's right,' said Lukhudith. 'I can smell it.'

'Me too,' said Nârù, 'can't you sense it?'

'Sense _what_?'

'Uncle, when she – when Nârù barked, back there in the forest, I knew it was her. I knew she wasn't going to hurt us, though I can't explain _how_ I knew that. Can't you feel that, too?'

Thorin couldn't. Whatever Kíli had felt was a mystery to Thorin. All he knew now was suspicion, and distrust, and a lingering fear that Nârù or Lukhudith would turn on them at any moment, in spite of their strange connection to Kíli and Fíli. He dared not turn his back on the wolf, nor could he allow himself to put aside Orcrist when it insisted on being in such close proximity to them.

'Do you...do you remember anything that happened before you fell asleep?' Thorin heard Fíli ask of Lukhudith.

'No,' replied the wolf, 'nothing at all.'

'But I know why we're here,' piped up Nârù, 'I know why we're on this quest.'

'I know everything about _you_,' said Lukhudith, pushing her nose into the palm of Fíli's hand. 'I know your mother's name and I know how we came to be in Erebor, and I know why we have to find Bilbo. Isn't that odd?'

'Very odd,' murmured Kíli.

Kíli and Fíli exchanged a look, bewildered and attempting to find a point of reference that they could understand. If they were confused, then at least they were not alone in their confusion.

'We should move on,' said Thorin, but his voice held little conviction. He had yet to look away from the wolf.

'But the wolf would just follow us,' said Kíli, 'it was following us for all that time, just as Nârù was.' He gave a small, strained chuckle. 'I don't think you're getting rid of it.'

Thorin lowered Orcrist, barely hearing Kíli's words, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting ideas. The wolf's tale twitched from side to side slowly, and it seemed to be waiting for something.

'Please don't send us away,' said Nârù quietly, 'I don't think...I don't think we're supposed to be parted. I _know_ we're not supposed to be anywhere but by your side.'

Kíli, frowning, put his hands to her ruff, brushing the fur the wrong way. 'We're not sending you anywhere,' he assured her, 'not when we still have so many questions.'

'We're tired,' said Fíli, 'it's been a long day, and I think the sun is finally setting. Why don't we rest awhile?'

'Yes, I think that's a good idea,' said Kíli with forced cheer, then frowned, 'I'm certain I'm supposed to feel hungry, too, but I don't.'

'Probably because you stuffed your face with Bombur's pies at lunch,' said Fíli, 'how many did you eat again?'

'Three, but you can talk, you weren't far behind-'

'We rest here,' said Thorin, finally looking away from the wolf, 'I will take first watch.'

'Alright, Thorin,' agreed Fíli, his argument with Kíli forgotten in a moment, 'I'll take second.'

Thorin expected Kíli to protest at having to take the dawn watch, but his nephew said nothing, giving a small nod and taking off his long coat to lay it down on the forest floor in a makeshift bed, briefly scratching Nârù's ears as he did so. Nârù and Lukhudith, meanwhile, took it upon themselves to greet the wolf, trotting up to her – and it _was_ a female wolf, though Thorin had no clue as to how he knew this – and softly touching noses with her. The wolf met them both gently, enduring their licks to her muzzle, before they both returned to Kíli and Fíli's sides.

Thorin settled down with his back against a tree, laying Orcrist across his lap. The wolf moved further into the clearing, laying down across from Thorin on the ground, body angled towards something that held its interest.

Fíli and Kíli, after a few minutes of quiet chatter with their wolves, were quick to doze off, as they always were. They were lucky it was warm here, and that winter had left this place untouched; they would need little more than the clothes they wore to keep them warm. Their wolves, meanwhile, after a brief bout of playful biting, settled next to them, but not to sleep – Thorin could still clearly see that their eyes were open and watchful even as Kíli started to snore.

Thorin stared at the wolf across the expanse of the clearing. She stared back, golden gaze giving nothing away.

'Why do you refuse to speak?' said Thorin, his voice purposely pitched low so as not to wake Kíli or Fíli.

The wolf said nothing.

'Are you unable to?' he hazarded. She turned her head away, the movement distinctly disdainful. Not unable to speak, then, but unwilling.

'Why, then?'

She turned her head back to him, as still as stone.

'I cannot believe that we are connected,' Thorin admitted. 'They might, but I cannot. I value what I know and what I can see in front of me.'

He pulled out the small bead from his inside pocket, cupping it in his hand. It was now so dark that he could only just make out the markings.

'But I am at war with myself,' he continued, 'for my gut tells me that you are real, and that this isn't some trick of the world we find ourselves in. I only wish I could trust it, as I would have done once upon a time.'

Still the wolf refused to speak.

'Very well, keep your silence,' snapped Thorin, irritated. Her only response to this was to resume her watch, eyes firmly fixed at some point deep in the forest. With a jolt, Thorin realised she was pointing in the exact same direction he had been leading them.

Apparitions, strange woods and talking animals. It had been one of the oddest days Thorin had ever known. He was glad for the presence of his nephews, despite still harbouring anger at them for their actions. If they hadn't of been here, then…well, Thorin might have thought that he had gone mad.

For the second time in his life.

He rolled the bead around in his palm, watching what little light there was glint over the surface of the cheap metal. It was of poor craftsmanship, made of sub-par materials, and had been shoddily put together. But still he treasured it, though he would never admit that to anyone, not even Fíli or Kíli. Not even, really, to himself.

When it came to wake Fíli, he instructed his nephew to keep a careful watch over the wolf.

'Keep your weapons to hand,' he told him, 'I will not have us take any risks tonight.'

Fíli looked as though he might say something, but he took up Thorin's place all the same, Lukhudith sitting next to him. Thorin allowed himself one last glance at the wolf before he took off his furred coat and set himself down on it.

He held the bead lightly in his hand as he tried to drift off. Fíli would not let any harm come to them, he knew, but the wolf's presence worried him all the same. Just as it had done for the last two months, sleep eluded him for many hours, and when it finally did come, it was shallow and not restful in the slightest.

* * *

**A/N: **

**Thorin's assumption that both of the boy's daemons are wolves is not quite right. For clarification, their daemons are as follows:**

**Thorin: Grey Wolf**

**Fili: Golden Jackal**

**Kili: Coyote**


	3. Chapter Two

Dawn the next day came upon their clearing sluggishly, the sunlight weaker than it had been the day before. The animals proved not to be a strange dream, and were still present when they woke, Lukhudith circling them, eager to be off, Nârù watching Kíli check over his bow and arrows and ready himself for another day of walking. The wolf, meanwhile, was pacing back and forth at one end of the clearing, stopping every few seconds to sniff the air.

'I'm not hungry,' said Kíli, 'are you?'

'No, I'm not.'

'Be thankful,' said Thorin, shrugging on his coat, 'there is nothing to eat here, save for bark and leaves.'

Fíli pulled a face. 'No thank you. That might be suitable fare for Elves, but not for me.'

They set off, Thorin and the wolf leading the way, and it was exactly the same as yesterday, save for the part where Kíli and Fíli could now occupy their time by quizzing their wolves on all manner of subjects. How much can you smell, what can you hear, what can you see? What sort of wolf are you? They asked. Thorin listened to their conversations with half an ear, most of his attention on the wolf ranging ahead of them. Whenever she strayed too far, she would look back and wait for them to catch up, and then repeat the process.

The landscape changed again, and they had to traverse little gullies and narrow paths through rock formations. After only an hour's worth of walking, the animals flicked up their ears, all of them pointing in one direction.

'I can hear water,' said Lukhudith at Fíli's questioning look.

'Well that makes a change,' said Kíli, 'I was getting bored of trees, trees and more trees.'

It was, indeed, water. Soon the dwarves could hear it, too, and they didn't have to wait long to find its source: two huge waterfalls, hidden away among the rocks, a shallow pool at their base.

'Thorin,' said Fíli with the air of someone trying to keep a hold of his sanity, 'is it just me, or is that one…not moving?'

'No, it's…it's not,' agreed Thorin slowly, for while one of the waterfalls fell from the rocks above in a steady, endless stream, its twin was motionless.

'Perhaps it's frozen?' suggested Kíli. He startled in the next second when the wolf gave a low snort and began to make her way across the pool, the water deep enough to reach her haunches but not enough to cause a real hindrance. After a moment's hesitation, Thorin followed, wading through the water to get a closer look at the waterfall. It was about twice as wide as Thorin, a rippling veil caught in a moment in time, completely unmoving.

It wasn't frozen. When Thorin reached out to cautiously touch the surface, his hand sunk in, just as it would when touching any normal form of water. But when he drew back, his skin was dry. He peered through the waterfall, trying to see behind it, into the dark that it hid. He looked down briefly at the wolf.

'There's a way through,' he said to Fíli and Kíli, who had come to join him. 'There's a gap in the wall here. This is our path.'

'Are you sure?' asked Fíli.

'There's only one way to find out,' said Thorin, and he stepped into the suspended water.

It was that same feeling again of immersion again, only this time, when he was fully through, the world lurched sideways without warning and Thorin opened his mouth and found that real water flooded it. His body, at the shock of it, tried to take a breath and choked on water. He was fully submerged, blind and with no idea which way was up. He had the brief sensation of stars flaring across the inky blackness, coalescing high above his head into a dappled light source, like light on the surface of water. His lungs straining for breath, he swam for it in great powerful strokes, fighting against his heavy gear and sodden clothing.

Thorin broke the surface with a great gulp of air. He pushed his hair out of his face with a hand, skimming the water and searching for the bank, trying to reassert which way was up. Land was not too far away, and the wolf was already there, shaking out her coat and looking back at him expectantly.

The water was shallower nearer to the bank, and soon Thorin could walk the rest of the way out, but he paused, still knee deep in water, looking out at the wide river. His worries were eased when Kili and Fili broke the surface with spluttered gasps, and with a hand on each of their arms to steady them, Thorin helped them up the stony shallows to dry land.

Nârù took particular care to shake all over Lukhudith. Lukhidith's response was to shove her back into the water.

'Well that was the oddest experience so far,' said Kíli.

'Where are we?' said Fíli, wringing out his coat.

Their surroundings were once again thickly forested, but gone was the pale sunlight and the bleached colours of the trees. Instead they stood in a forest clearly in the depths of winter, for there were no leaves on the branches, and the sky above was a clear, piercing blue. Thorin could even hear birdsong.

'Oh, good,' said Kíli, '_more_ forest.'

Travelling in wet clothes was not wise, and so they unanimously decided to start a fire. Fíli, who had learnt much from Óin and Glóin during the journey, soon had a merry little blaze going, and they quickly stripped their outer layers to draw as much water from them as they could, setting them close to the fire to dry off. They sat around in their tunics and breeches, trying to draw warmth from the blaze, fending off shivers and relating the odd experience of their arrival to each other. Nârù and Lukhidth came in particularly handy – neither were affected by the cold, and their fur dried rapidly, allowing them to curl up beside their respective Dwarves and offer them their warmth. The wolf, much to Thorin's surprise, did the same, coming to lay beside Thorin, though she was careful not to let her flank touch him.

They became keenly aware of their hunger, and their bellies soon reminded them that they hadn't eaten for a full day. Kíli, taking up his dagger, scouted the area around them, and was rewarded with a handful of late autumn apples, which he shared out between the three of them. It was not much, and the apples were hard, but it was better than nothing.

Their clothes relatively dry, they set off again, Kíli and Fili eager to find game or something more substantial to eat, Thorin curious as to the change in their landscape. Wherever they were, it had none of the emptiness of the forest they had been traversing only that morning. Thorin would even hazard a guess as to say that they were in any other normal forest, no different from the ones that had, once upon a time, clustered around the Lonely Mountain's foothills. There was even a well-worn path that followed the river, but Thorin lead them off of it as soon as they set off. Kíli and Fíli had followed unquestioningly.

Thorin judged that they had been walking for about half an hour when the wolf pulled up her stride, shifting from easy movement to intent watchfulness in the space of a breath.

'What is it?' Thorin asked, fingers twitching.

'Can you hear anything?' he heard Fíli ask Lukhudith behind him.

A long, tense moment passed, then the wolf swung around to the left and let out a low bark. They whipped around, following her line of sight, and were just in time to see a small figure emerge from the undergrowth, a bow in his hand, arrow notched and ready to fly.

How on earth the archer had snuck up on them, Thorin would never know. He had appeared seemingly out of thin air, his heavy furs and light mottled tunic having certainly helped him blend into the landscape, his face hidden beneath the cowl of his hood. Thorin let his hands fall open in front of him, trying not to provoke him. If the archer's aim was true, then one of them could be dead in a moment.

'Go back to the path,' called the archer, and at the sound of his voice Thorin felt as though he had been struck by lightning. That _voice_. It couldn't be. It _couldn't_ be.

'Go back to the path or I _will_ kill you! You are straying into-'

'Bilbo?' Thorin said with absolute certainty.

The archer's voice faltered. 'What?' he said, 'how do you…' Thorin saw him give a little shake of his head. 'It doesn't matter! You need to turn back.'

'Bilbo!' said Kíli, smiling happily, 'Bilbo, it's us, it's-'

He took a step forward. An arrow thudded into the ground inches from his foot.

'Stay back!' said the archer, taking another arrow from his quiver.

Kíli looked incredulously at his brother. 'he just - he just _shot _at me!' he turned back to the archer, outraged, 'you could have hit me!'

'I missed on purpose, you idiot,' shot back the archer, and Thorin could just imagine him rolling his eyes. A strange bubbling sensation was working its way up through Thorin's chest. That tone was so very distinctly belonging to Bilbo Baggins that Thorin dared to step forwards himself. Instantly the archer's arrow swung around to point at Thorin, and he paused, hands held up and outwards.

'Bilbo,' he tried again, caution waging a war with hope in his heart, 'don't you recognise us?'

'Should I?' the archer snapped, 'I don't care. You need to get back on the path. Keep on ambling down by the river if you must.'

'Why?'

'This is our territory,' said the archer.

'Who's territory? I didn't see any markers,' said Kíli, and he still sounded indignant that Bilbo had shot at him.

Nârù, her ears twitching back and forth, started to tug at the edge of Kíli's tunic. 'Kíli, she said between tugs, '_Kíli_.'

'Not now, Nârù,' said Kíli irritably, trying to brush her off.

'It doesn't matter,' the archer was saying. 'Turn back.'

But Thorin couldn't, not when Bilbo stood before him.

'Your name is Bilbo Baggins,' he said with the utmost care. 'Your mother's name was Belladonna, and she was a Took. Your father was Bungo. They started courting when your mother threw a custard tart at your father in a fit of irritation.'

With every word, the archer's arrow had steadily dropped, inch by inch.

'That's…that's impossible. How do you know all that?' said the archer. 'The last part with the custard tart isn't right, but that sounds an awful lot like them.'

'I propose a deal, Mister Baggins,' said Thorin, 'we're cold and we're hungry and we are utterly lost.'

Kíli and Fíli attempted to look as bedraggled as possible behind him.

'We didn't mean to trespass, I swear it, and you have nothing to fear from us. Give us a good meal and I'll tell you how I know all that I know about you.'

The archer appeared to think about it. Thorin couldn't see his face, but he could guess at the stubborn line of Bilbo's mouth as he tried to come to a decision.

'Alright,' agreed the archer after a long moment, and Thorin all but slumped in relief. 'But you keep your daemons close, you hear? And I'll need your weapons.'

'What?' said Fíli, 'that's not necessary - we don't mean you any harm.'

'I don't know that,' said the archer. 'Weapons, or this isn't happening. Throw them on the ground in front of you.'

'You seem very confident for one lone archer,' said Thorin observed mildly, curious at what Bilbo's reaction would be. 'Even if you were to take down one of us, you would still be outnumbered. We would kill you in seconds.'

But instead of faltering, as Thorin had expected, the archer said, with a distinct smile in his voice. 'Oh, I think I could take you.'

Kíli snorted. 'You and who's army?' he said.

The archer let out a low whistle. The undergrowth rustled and shook around them, and a dozen more archers appeared, their arrows trained on the three Dwarves.

'I was trying to _tell_ you,' whined Nârù.

* * *

Their weapons were taken from them by what they now knew to be Hobbits, and they were lead away by Bilbo. The Hobbits kept them in a line, and flanked them as they walked, keeping a careful watch over their movements. Thorin observed that they kept their distance from Nârù and Lukhudith, and that the wolf was given the widest berth of all. Each of the Hobbits were dressed as Bilbo was, in loose-fitted thick leathers trimmed in fur to ward off the winter chill. They were all similarly armed with a knife - some with short swords - and all of them had some form of long range weapon, either a bow or a slingshot.

Fíli tapped Thorin's shoulder, pointing to a hobbit further up the path. The hobbit, Thorin saw, had a small, weasel-like creature wrapped around his shoulders. Fíli pointed again, this time to a hobbit to their right, whose stride was matched by a small brown dog loping along at its side.

Now that Fíli had pointed it out, Thorin could see several animals, all attached to various Hobbits or walking alongside them. A small mouse poked its head out of the pocket of the hobbit nearest to Thorin. A brown hare lopped alongside another. Another still had a dove sitting calmly on her hood.

He and Fili looked at each other, speculating silently. Were they like Nârù, Lukhudith and the wolf? Thorin wondered. Could they talk, too?

Thorin's eyes drifted back to the front of the line, to where Bilbo was leading them deeper into the forest. The hobbit had yet to remove his hood, but Thorin knew it was him all the same. If each hobbit had a companion of their own, then where was Bilbo's?

They crested a hill, and Bilbo whistled out a series of short, sharp sounds. Thorin glanced upwards to see two more hobbits signal from their perches in the lofty branches. Bilbo signalled back, and their party passed through, leaving the two guard hobbits in their positions.

A few more steps and Thorin could see what they were guarding. A whole camp lay at the foot of the hill, comprised of makeshift tents and two sizeable cooking fires. At one side of the camp lay a scattering of caves, set into the stony hill. Dozens of hobbits were hard at work, seeing to food or tending to the tethered pack ponies. A few were practising their archery skills, a few more setting up another tent.

A young female hobbit saw their approach, jogging to meet Bilbo at the head of the train.

'What's this?' she said, her eyes raking over Thorin, Kili and Fili with great interest, 'this doesn't look like venison.'

'Travellers who wandered off the path, Prim,' Thorin heard Bilbo say.

'Well, what are they doing here?' asked 'Prim'.

'Prim, may I introduce…come to think of it, I don't know any of your names,' said Bilbo abashedly.

'Thorin, son of Thráin,' said Thorin, purposefully leaving off his title. Bilbo had never been particularly impressed by it, in any case, and he was certain this Bilbo would be no different.

'Fili, son of Dís,' said Fili, taking his cue from Thorin.

'Kili, son of Dís.'

'Primula Brandybuck,' said the hobbit, sketching out a small curtsey – an odd sight indeed in her furs and heavy winter gear.

'Just getting a hot meal before we send them on their way,' said Bilbo. 'They're a strange lot, but they're harmless.'

'Their daemons say otherwise,' said Primula.

Bilbo leant in, whispering to her conspiratorially, but still loud enough for Thorin to hear. 'Between you and me I don't think they're quite right in the head.'

Primula snorted loudly. Fili made a faint noise of protest behind Thorin's back.

'Well why didn't you say! Let's get you settled in,' she said to Thorin with a grin, 'you'll find we're kind folk who won't turn away fools in need of help.'

She and Bilbo exchanged a quick, amused look, as though sharing a private joke.

'Excuse me-' growled Thorin, taking great offense to that, but Bilbo turned to him, throwing off his hood at last, and all of Thorin's protests died in his throat.

'If you give us your coats we'll dry them out for you,' said Bilbo, oblivious to Thorin's inner turmoil, 'you look like you've been swimming in the river.' When Thorin said nothing, he raised his eyebrows. '_Have_ you been swimming in the river?'

Thorin heard not a word from his mouth. How strange it was, for that face to be looking at him with nothing more than faint puzzlement. How strange for Bilbo's features not to be contorted with fear, and deep hurt, and a grief that made Thorin's heart ache every time he thought of it. It set Thorin's stomach roiling with a guilt so piercing, so hot, it left him breathless.

'Is he…is he alright?' asked Bilbo of Fili and Kili.

'He'll be fine,' Fili said, shooting Thorin a look of kind understanding.

'It's been a strange couple of days,' added Kili. His eyes darted over Bilbo's face, his expression torn.

'Goodness, I see what you meant, now,' said Primula, peering at Thorin.

'Why is he- oh, decided to join us, have you?' said Bilbo as a bird landed on his shoulder.

'Well it _is_ almost lunch time,' said the bird primly.

'Thank you so much for your help, earlier,' said Bilbo. The bird pecked at the curls by Bilbo's ear.

'You know I was watching,' it said, and it sounded like a very old argument. 'I just needed to stretch my wings.'

'The bird,' said Thorin, finally shaking off the shock and guilt and finding his voice, 'it can speak?'

Bilbo gave him a funny look. 'Of course she can,' he said. 'All daemons can speak.'

'Daemons?' asked Fili, 'what's a daemon?'

'Oh _dear_,' Primula said.

* * *

They were ushered away by Bilbo, to sit by one of the campfires, surrounded by curious Hobbits on all sides. Bilbo had shaken his head at Kili's questioning, and insisted that, 'he couldn't have this conversation without some food in him first,' and had disappeared along with Primula to fetch them lunch.

'Is it him?' Fili asked as soon as Bilbo was out of earshot. He was whispering, but he needn't have bothered – they were being given a great deal of space by the other Hobbits, who were watching them with equal parts curiosity and wariness.

'No,' said Thorin at the same time as Kili said, 'yes'.

'But it has to be him! He looks exactly like Bilbo.'

'But he doesn't recognise us,' said Fili.

'Maybe he's forgotten us? Maybe it's this world – maybe it caused him to forget us and think that he was…was…'

'The leader of a small band of Hobbits that look like they might be bandits?' Thorin completed dryly.

Kili sighed. 'When we saw him, I thought this journey was over. I thought that perhaps it might be _easy_, for once.'

Nârù came and put her head on his lap.

'If it were that easy, everyone would do it,' said Lukhudith, and the wolf murmured her agreement.

'There is a way of finding out for certain if it is him or not,' Thorin said. 'But I might need a minute with him alone, when he comes back.'

They did not have to wait long. Bilbo returned, a bowl in either hand, and he was accompanied by three other Hobbits, who each served out food to them. One of them, a young female hobbit with a small owl on her shoulder, passed Fili a bowl of stew and a huge chunk of buttered bread, giving him a brilliant smile as she did so.

'My name's Jessamine Took, but you can call me Jessie,' she told Fili, 'and this is Amaryllis.'

'Ah,' said Fili, blinking, 'this is Lukhudith, and I'm Fili, son of Dís.' He lowered his head a little – it was hard to bow when you were already sat down. 'At your service.'

'Hullo,' said Lukhudith, politely dipping her head.

'I'll be over here, if you want to chat,' she said with another smile, and wandered away. Fili watched her go, one eyebrow raised.

Kili nudged him in his side, grinning. 'How very smooth of you, Fili. We haven't even been here two minutes!'

'Shut up,' grunted Fili, 'I'm sure she was just being polite.'

'It would seem not all Hobbits are shy,' said Thorin.

'That's the Tooks for you,' said Bilbo, settling down next to Thorin and handing him a bowl, 'if she asks you to show her how to throw one of your daggers properly, don't be fooled. She's the best knife-thrower in the camp.'

'I'll bear that in mind,' said Fili, digging into his stew and studiously ignoring his brother's grin.

'So,' said Bilbo, 'how is it that three grown Dwarves don't even know what a daemon is?'

'I assume you are referring to the animals,' said Thorin, fighting to keep his tone even and free of what he was feeling.

The image of Bilbo, pale and unmoving on a sick bed, flashed through his mind, and it was all Thorin could do not to stand up and walk away.

'They're not exactly animals,' Bilbo said, his own daemon fluttering down off of his shoulder and onto his knee. Bilbo ran a finger over the bird's head. Thorin could easily identify the breed; its distinctive autumn-red plumage marked it out as a red kestrel.

'Humour us,' said Fili, 'assume we are utter dolts who don't know anything.'

'I'm beginning to see the truth to that,' said Bilbo. 'But I still don't understand how you don't know any of this. Dwarves have daemons, too, though you may call them something else, I suppose. They're with you all your life. You can never be parted.'

'From birth?' said Thorin.

'From birth to death,' confirmed Bilbo. 'They're…well, for lack of a better definition, they are the representation of your soul.'

'Our _souls_,' echoed Kili incredulously. 'How is that possible?'

Bilbo shrugged. 'It just is. It's always been like that. Did you all receive a blow to the head or something?'

'Well, _Kili_ might have when he was little,' muttered Fili, and Kili whacked him on the arm. 'Might explain a lot-'

'And they're all different,' Thorin said, ignoring Fili, his eye wandering over the camp.

'Each and every one. As different as we all are. You can tell what a person's like by looking at their daemon, or at least certain characteristics.'

'Like what?' said Fili.

'Well, say a hobbit had a dog daemon. You could assume that they were loyal, or good at obeying orders. It doesn't always work, but most of the time it's right.'

Thorin turned to look at the wolf that lay at his feet, as close to the fire as she could get without scorching herself. Her ears twitched at every movement, and she occasionally lifted her head to look around the camp.

What does it say about me, Thorin wanted to ask, that I have a wolf as a daemon?

'Now I've answered your questions,' said Bilbo, 'it's time you answered some of _mine_.'

Kili and Fili immediately leapt to their feet. Thorin didn't even have to give them a signal.

'We'll be topping up our bowls,' said Fili, 'I'm still _starving_.'

'Me too,' said Kili, slinging an arm around Fili's shoulder, 'come on, brother, let's see if we can find that lovely hobbit lass again – what was it, Jessie? Maybe she wants some _archery_ lessons instead.'

They wandered off in the direction of the cooking stoves, bickering amongst themselves.

'Subtle,' said Bilbo dryly.

Although it had been Thorin's idea for Fili and Kili to give him a moment alone with Bilbo, he was now regretting it. It wasn't that he couldn't look Bilbo in the eye – he had the opposite problem instead. Whether it was their Bilbo or not, this Bilbo was achingly familiar, and Thorin found himself searching for any hint of betrayal, or hurt in the hobbit's otherwise mild expression. When he could find nothing but bright curiosity, he could not bring himself to look away.

'So, how do you know my name?' said Bilbo. 'We've wandered far and wide, but I'm certain we've never met.'

'It's a long story,' Thorin said, but he could see Bilbo's curiosity had been aroused, and knew there was no stopping him now.

'We have time.'

Thorin hesitated, and tried his best to answer in a way that would not sound utterly false to Bilbo's ears.

'We knew each other, in...in another life,' Thorin said. 'You may not believe me, but it's the truth. We shared a journey together, but you were…lost.'

'And you're searching for me?' hedged Bilbo.

'Yes. We were sent here by…well, it doesn't matter. But I don't think this is our world. Where we're from, we do not have daemons.'

'No daemons!' exclaimed Bilbo. 'Well, there's an odd thought.'

'You believe me?'

'Not in the slightest,' said Bilbo with a smile, 'I still think you've been knocked on your head somewhere along the way. But _you_ certainly believe it.'

'I believe you!' piped up Bilbo's kestrel.

'You'll believe _anything_,' said Bilbo, 'especially if it makes for a good story.'

'That's true,' agreed the bird.

Thorin watched as Bilbo's eyes wandered over to the fire, to where Thorin's daemon lay.

'Not having a daemon,' he said quietly. 'How lonely that must be.' He blinked, and turned to Thorin, his blue eyes soft and far too perceptive.

'Your daemon. Does she…does she refuse to speak to you?'

Thorin saw no reason to hide it. 'Yes. We have met only recently, but she has yet to say a word to me.'

'I'm sorry,' said Bilbo with a grimace. 'That's awful. I'm…I'm really sorry.'

'What are you sorry for? You hardly know me,' said Thorin, his brow creasing.

'But still,' Bilbo insisted, 'it's hardly a pleasant thing.'

'It causes me no bother.'

Bilbo's eyebrows shot up. He and his daemon looked at each other.

'But when a daemon refuses to speak,' he said slowly, as though choosing his words with the utmost care, 'it can be a sign of…of having experienced or seen _terrible_ things. Or of…' Bilbo trailed off, uttering his last word so quietly that Thorin strained to catch it.

'Madness.'

Thorin turned away as though he had been struck, heart pounding in his chest. He swallowed past the lump in his throat, and his left hand forming a tight fist by his thigh.

'I'm sorry,' said Bilbo after a long, tense minute of silence.

'Don't be,' Thorin grunted, still unable to look at Bilbo again. 'You...you speak as though from experience.'

'I've seen it before. Other Hobbits, even fauntlings, their daemons silent and far too quiet.'

That caused Thorin to pause. The Shire, as he had remembered it, had been a lush, peaceful place. What cause had a hobbit ever had to feel traumatised?

'Why are you out here?' said Thorin suddenly, addressing the point that had niggled at him since they first come across Bilbo. 'It's not like Hobbits to wander so far from The Shire, is it?'

He was taken aback when Bilbo blanched at the mention of his homeland, his bird burrowing its head into the collar of his thick jacket.

'The Shire?' he said, 'is that where your Bilbo is from?'

'Yes, why-'

'The Shire was lost two generations ago,' said Bilbo, his face pale.

'What - _how_?' demanded Thorin. He had always thought The Shire to be protected - an untouched land that would remain so for another Age at least.

'Orcs,' said Bilbo, 'we were routed out and left with no choice but to flee. We've been wandering ever since.'

'But what of the Rangers,' said Thorin, remembering a conversation he and Bilbo had once had about the Fell Winter. 'Surely they came to your aid?'

'They were outnumbered,' said Bilbo, 'they were slaughtered.'

'But _Gandalf_-'

'Who's Gandalf?'

Ah. That drew Thorin up short, his line of thought stalling. 'The wizard. Surely you must know who Gandalf is.'

'I know of no wizard save for Saruman,' said Bilbo, spitting out the name with a vehemence Thorin didn't know Bilbo possessed.

Thorin stared at him for a moment, mind reeling. As much as he disliked them, there was still one source of help that surely, _surely_ would have come to the aid of the Shire had it been under attack.

'And…Rivendell?' he said, and Bilbo's confusion became threaded with anger.

'Never heard of it. I don't know what it's like where _you're_ from, but here the West burns, and no one can do a thing about it.'

Thorin lapsed into silence, his eyes darting around the camp, making quick calculations.

'You're protecting a larger camp,' he guessed, and knew he had the answer when Bilbo flinched and his bird let out a squawk.

'How do you know _that_?'

'There are no children here, only adults,' said Thorin, speaking quickly. 'Adults who are all clearly proficient in at least one weapon. This camp is too small by far to be the entirety of your people, and I do not think you would have let us in had this been your main camp, where there would likely be families, and the infirm, and the elderly.'

'You're far more perceptive than I thought,' said Bilbo shakily, and Thorin saw that his entire body had become as tense as a tightly-coiled spring, and his daemon had half-opened her wings.

'We mean you no harm, Bilbo, I give you my word,' said Thorin. 'I'm…sorry for the loss of your homeland.'

Bilbo peered at him, the line of his shoulders tense.

'You really are, aren't you?' he said, surprised. 'You really are sorry.'

'It's a loss that I can understand,' said Thorin quietly.

Bilbo looked away, and Thorin allowed him a moment to compose himself.

'Thank you,' he said after a moment, his kestrel echoing the sentiment.

'We're searching for a new home,' said the kestrel.

'Though we have no idea where is safe,' said Bilbo. 'We've tried several places. The entirety of the West is lost to us, it seems.'

Thorin wanted desperately to reach out, to clasp a friendly hand to Bilbo's shoulder as he would have done to a friend, but he hesitated too long, and the moment passed.

'Could you not go East?'

'East?' blinked Bilbo, 'whatever for?'

'Does Erebor still stand?'

'Erebor? Yes, it does. Or, at least, as far as I know.'

'Then go East,' said Thorin, 'talk to the King. Persuade him that an influx of Hobbits is exactly what he needs.'

'Oh, yes, I'm sure he'll just leap at the chance of taking on a few hundred refugees,' said Bilbo, 'you're not making any sense.'

Thorin feared he wasn't even making sense to himself. If Erebor still stood, then Thrór was likely still king. If Thrór was still king, then he was also, almost certainly, still gold-mad.

'There are fertile lands, to the south of Erebor. I was told once that Hobbits are excellent gardeners, and it's a skill very few Dwarves have. You may be able to strike up a deal with the King – your talents in exchange for shelter and protection.'

Bilbo was staring at him as though he were mad. Thorin felt like someone had slid a hot dagger in between his ribs. It was a look that Thorin was far too familiar with.

'As simple as that, is it?' said Bilbo's kestrel faintly, when Bilbo himself failed to respond.

'The Dwarves have known hardship as you have done, Bilbo. Remind them of that.'

_Remind me of that_, thought Thorin to himself. It was bizarre to think that, somewhere out there, there might be another version of him. If this world's Thorin still had Erebor, and had been unmarred by all the tragedies of a life in exile, then there was a good chance he was still idealistic, and easily moved to kindness.

'We'll think about it,' said Bilbo, laughing breathlessly. 'I have to say, you've certainly paid for lunch – and then some – with this little chat. Has anyone told you you're very _odd_, even for a dwarf?'

Thorin choked out a rusty laugh. 'Yes, once or twice,' he said.

He was about to go on when a low tug pulled at his stomach, and his wolf leapt to her feet without warning, so quickly that a few nearby hobbits jumped back, despite standing several feet away from her.

Thorin turned his head, looking behind him, at the caves that the Hobbits had set up camp by. One of them, unlike its fellows, looked particularly deep, and appeared to lead back into a tunnel.

The way forward. Thorin knew that with absolute certainty, and clearly his wolf did, too. She looked at him and then at the cave, letting out a low, 'wuff'.

'It's time for us to move on,' said Thorin, 'but I must ask just one more question before we leave.'

'Alright,' said Bilbo. 'Though it's a shame to part ways now. Are you sure you won't stay a while?'

It was tempting. Thorin was surprised by how tempting it was to stay and converse with this Bilbo that had never heard of the Arkenstone, and who had never been given cause to hate Thorin. Nevertheless, he reached into his coat pocket, drawing out the bead, and held it out to Bilbo.

'Do you recognise this?' he asked.

Bilbo frowned a little and shook his head. 'I don't. Should I?' he said.

And there was Thorin's answer.

'No, I didn't expect you to,' said Thorin, his heart sinking. 'I thank you for your offer, Mister Baggins, but we must move on. Would you permit us to have our weapons back?'

He stood, and Bilbo followed suit.

'Yes, I suppose that'll be acceptable,' he said, 'as long as you don't mind my Hobbits watching you three like hawks as you leave.'

'Or like kestrels,' said Bilbo's daemon.

'Or like kestrels.'

'Not at all,' said Thorin, his eyes searching for Kili and Fili. They were over by the makeshift archery range, surrounded by Hobbits, clearly winning over the camp with their easy smiles and good-natured joking. Thorin caught Fili's eye and gestured, watching as his nephew's expression immediately sobered, turning to clap a hand to Kili's shoulder. Bilbo, meanwhile, had disappeared to fetch their weapons.

'Is it him?' asked Fili after he and Kili had made their farewells.

'No,' said Thorin, 'it's not.'

'So he's…another version of Bilbo?' Kili said.

'It would seem so. If the Bilbo we knew had led a different life, this would have been the result.'

'Why _are_ they out here? I thought Hobbits were even keener on their homes than Dwarves,' said Fili.

'Later,' said Thorin, for Bilbo was returning with their confiscated gear.

'Here you are, then,' said Bilbo, depositing their various weapons on the ground. He watched as they began the long process of re-sheathing knives, throwing-axes and swords, and fitting belts and loops back into their rightful places.

'You're very well armed, aren't you?' Bilbo said.

'A dwarf is always well-armed, Mister Baggins,' said Fili, slotting his last throwing knife home into its sheath on his boot.

'We'll lead you back to the path,' said Bilbo, 'and this time, please stay on it? I've no idea how you managed to blunder through half of the forest like that.'

'We were only following Thorin,' said Kili, trying to smother a cheeky smile. 'Who is well-known for his navigation skills.'

'_I_ was just following our…map,' said Thorin with a glower at Kili.

Bilbo looked back and forth between them, clearly trying to discern their hidden meaning. 'Well, if it was a map,' he said, 'don't use it, at least not until you're out of the forest. It lead you to head right for us.'

'It did?' said Fili.

'Yes, why else do you think we confronted you?' said Bilbo, 'if you'd have gone any further you would have stumbled upon the camp, and the camp guards are not quite as lenient as I am. You were lucky I was returning home from a patrol so I could intercept you.'

'I don't think we were heading for the _camp_,' said Fili, smiling knowingly in Thorin's direction.

Thorin knew exactly what Fili was getting at. In this sprawling, dense forest, they had succeeded in bumping into Bilbo within just a few hours of arriving.

Thorin's sense of direction was leading them directly to Bilbo.

'I thank you for the food,' said Thorin.

'Not at all. You were good – if slightly strange - company.'

'We are about to be stranger still. There's no need to lead us back to the path, Mister Baggins – we are heading underground instead.'

'We are?' said Kili.

'We are.'

'Are you sure?' said Bilbo incredulously, 'we checked those caves, I don't think there's anything down there. Most of them are dead-ends.'

'I'm sure we will find a way. We are Dwarves, after all,' said Thorin.

'If you're certain, at least take a torch,' said Bilbo, 'we have plenty of dry wood spare.' He left them for a moment to fetch two sticks from the pile of fuel for the fire, pressing them into their hands.

'Are you _sure_?' he said.

'Yes.'

Bilbo still looked dubious in the extreme. 'Alright then. But you'll likely be back here in ten minutes looking very embarrassed when you can't find a way through.'

'We'll take that risk,' grinned Fili. 'Thank you again, Bilbo.'

'Goodbye,' said Bilbo, shaking his head and smiling.

'Goodbye, Bilbo,' Thorin said, 'think over my suggestion.'

Bilbo smiled at him. 'I will.'

It felt wrong for Thorin to turn his back on Bilbo, but they had to move on. The Bilbo from their world was still out there, somewhere, and that knowledge urged him forwards.

Before the dark of the cave swallowed them up completely, Thorin seized his last chance to look back, just for a moment. Bilbo stood not far from the mouth of the cave, dressed in his heavy gear, his daemon sitting on his shoulder, watching them go bemusedly. Thorin fixed the image firmly in his mind.

They continued on, into the dark, and the sunlight vanished altogether.

* * *

The tunnel did not stop, as Bilbo had promised it would, but wound its way deeper and deeper into the dark. Thorin knew, without even having to test his theory, that if they tried to find their way back to Bilbo's camp now they would be unable to. Both the eerie forest and the wandering Bilbo's world were lost to them. The way back was shut.

After a brief discussion, they decided not to light their torches immediately, just in case they needed them later on. Their Dwarven eyes adjusted well enough to the dark, allowing them to see clearly enough that the torches were not necessary.

The wolves took to being underground with an ease that surprised Thorin. He had expected them to dislike such an unnatural setting, but if what Bilbo had said was true, then Thorin's own soul could hardly be expected to be uncomfortable underground. He was a dwarf, after all.

Their passage reminded Thorin of similar outings into the tunnels of Erebor with his father. There were some stable tunnels, deep in the roots of Erebor that were naturally occurring, and not carved out by Dwarven hands. Thorin's father had insisted that they not take a light source with them on their trips – it was, he had said, far better to use the gifts that their Maker had given them, and the natural wonders of Erebor's tunnels were more beautiful to behold in the dark.

They marched all day with only two breaks, and Thorin made sure to relay all that he had learnt from Bilbo to Fili and Kili. He left out the part about why his dameon migh tnot be speaking to him.

Their hunger had once again dissipated, but they were still able to feel tired, and they had to stop close to nightfall. Thorin called them to a halt in a spacious cavern, and took first watch, his mind too full of all that he had seen and been told that morning to immediately sleep. He felt he needed time to sort through it all. His wolf came to lay next to him, head on her paws.

'Do you still refuse to speak to me?' said Thorin to her when he was sure his nephews were asleep.

The wolf perked her head up, looking up at him.

'I cannot carry on calling you "wolf",' said Thorin. 'If you refuse to give me your name then I will have to give you one.'

The wolf looked distinctly unimpressed at this.

'Then I shall call you Khael,' said Thorin, and he gave a brittle smile when her reaction to this was to get up and go and lay at the other end of the cavern, as far as she could from him.

'It's a fine name,' said someone to his right. 'But I think she would prefer her true name.'

Thorin flinched, shifting from easy watchfulness to sharp readiness in a second.

'You,' he said, relaxing infinitesimally when he saw who the speaker was.

'Me,' said the ghostly apparition.

She was exactly as she had been back in Erebor, with one minor difference - Thorin's eyes could just about pick up on the fact that her dress had changed colour, a minor change from sharp white to the palest of greys.

'I did not think we would be seeing you again,' Thorin said to her. 'How are you here?'

'I can come and go as I please,' said the woman, taking a seat on one of the many rocks that were scattered around the cavern. 'And this place is not barred from me.'

'Why are you here?'

'I was curious,' she said, 'you have not become lost yet. You have instead gained something very valuable along the way.' She jutted her sharp chin towards Thorin's wolf, who was watching their exchange warily.

'That remains to be seen,' said Thorin, 'I'm not sure how much use a daemon is.'

'Take heed, Thorin,' she said sharply, 'you will need all the help you can get.'

Thorin gave her a hard look. 'Why?' he said, 'what is there to fear?'

'You have had an easy time of it, so far,' she said, 'it will not always be so.'

'You speak in vagaries again. If you truly wish to help then _tell_ me what we will face.'

Her eyes dropped, and she said, mournfully, 'I cannot. The path is different for every being that walks it. I have no more idea of what is to come than you do, save that it will be…'

Her voice trailed off. 'I cannot say,' she said in a whisper.

'Then what use are you?' said Thorin with no small amount of anger, turning away from her. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her stand from her perch.

'You speak so rashly,' she said, 'and yet your words do not match up to what you know in your heart.'

Thorin snorted.

'I can only offer you my advice, Thorin. If I had the power to help you further, know that I would.'

He was silent for a good long minute. 'I know,' he said at last. 'You have been nothing but truthful, thus far.'

He saw something like a smile light her thin lips, but his eyesight wasn't sharp enough to be certain.

'Then you shall have my advice,' said the ghost. 'Look to what you have in front of you, and keep your nephews close.'

Thorin heard the sound of fabric shifting over the rocks, and bare feet padding over the cold stone.

'He will visit you three times, before the end,' she said, and when Thorin turned to demand that she explain her words, he found himself alone once more.


	4. Chapter Three

After a scant few hours of sleep, Thorin woke to the dark of the cavern, and for one disorientating second he thought he was back in Erebor's halls. But the rough cave was nothing like his private room, dishevelled as his room still was and in need of attention that he had not had the time to pay it. The realisation as he came to full wakefulness was jarring, and that and the ghost's odd warning of the night before left him preoccupied, answering his nephews questions vaguely as they prepared to set off, most of his attention directed elsewhere.

They had another long day of walking ahead of them, with no discernible end in sight. Kíli and Fíli filled the time with conjecture over the previous day's events, their daemons adding their own thoughts frequently, and more frequently still descending into good-natured play-fighting.

'I spy with my little eye,' said Kíli, 'something beginning with-'

'Stalagmites,' said Fíli flatly.

Kíli looked at him in mock-surprise, 'how did you guess? Alright then, how about: I spy with my little eye, something-'

'If this is 'rocks' I am going to punch you,' warned Fíli.

'No,' said Kíli in the tone of voice that implied that yes, it had been rocks. 'It was stalac_tites_.'

Then, much later on:

'If that was a different version of Bilbo,' said Fíli, 'then, does that mean that there could be more?'

'Perhaps there's dozens of Bilbo's out there,' said his brother.

They were quiet for a moment as they contemplated this. Thorin could guess where this train of thought would lead, and a second later, he was proved right.

'If there's another Bilbo, then maybe there's another us,' said Kíli, 'maybe in that world back there we're alive and out there somewhere?'

'In Erebor,' said Fíli, 'didn't you say that Erebor still stood, Thorin?'

'I did.'

'Us too,' said Nârù, 'if you're out there somewhere, then so are we.'

'Or we don't exist at all,' Lukhudith said quietly.

Kíli let out a laugh. 'Of course we exist!'

'But mother met father in Ered Luin,' said Fíli with a dawning sense of horror, picking up on his daemon's thought, 'if Erebor never fell, she would never have met him.'

'Maybe she married someone else,' said Lukhudith.

'Shut up,' said Kíli without any real heat, 'don't think like that. They might have met, we don't know that!'

But they were all quiet for a long time, after that.

It was not an idea that Thorin wanted to linger over for long, either. He had never thought of it like that; he had never once contemplated that he might not have known Fíli and Kíli had all his fervent wishes come true and Erebor had remained untouched by Smaug. He reared away from the thought in his mind, trying to put it to one side, but it sat heavy on his heart, and it was followed in quick succession by another:

If Erebor had continued on, unmarred, he would never have met Bilbo Baggins.

Thorin's insides churned. His people, his father and grandfather and brother, the loss of his home, all of it given in exchange for his nephews and for meeting Bilbo. His bright-eyed, ever-hopeful nephews, his sister-sons, on whose young shoulders the future of Erebor sat. And Bilbo, who had proved him wrong more than once on their journey, in that refreshing, mild-mannered way of his, and whose friendship he had valued dearly, once. With a great amount of effort, Thorin shoved the thought away, deep down, and turned his mind to other things.

Kíli and FIli, meanwhile, could not remain downhearted for long.

'I wonder if there's a world out there in which Balin wasn't such a bore when he taught us history,' said Kíli musingly some time later.

Fíli snorted. 'Unlikely.'

'Or…or one in which Dwalin still has all of his hair.'

Fíli shushed his brother, looking around with an air of worry. 'He might hear you!' he said, just to see his brother smile.

There was a small pause.

'Or a world in which Uncle is not quite so grumpy,' said Fíli, mock-conspiratorially to Kíli.

Thorin turned to him, eyebrow raised. 'Or a world in which you can look at an apple without throwing up,' he said.

Fíli took it in his stride, even as his brother let out a bark of surprised laughter.

'I'll have you know I ate a slice of Bombur's apple pie last week,' he said, nose in the air.

Thorin looked to Kíli.

'It's true,' grinned Kíli in between chuckles, 'I swear on Durin's name, he did.'

Thorin looked back at Fíli and said, in his driest tone, 'I am very proud of you, Fíli.'

Equally serious, Fíli replied with a heartfelt, 'thank you, Uncle.'

They were treated to the sound of their daemons laughing in yips and barks, and even Khael, Thorin's wolf, wagged her tail a few times playfully.

Thorin turned away from them, hiding his smile. No, he did not like to even wonder about the possibility of not having Kíli and Fíli by his side. Khael looked up at him, matching his stride, and Thorin knew they were sharing the same thought.

But even Kíli and Fíli's spirits began to wane as they made their way down into the depths. They were clearly journeying downwards; any natural light that had fallen through gaps in the rocks and had indicated that they had been close to the surface vanished altogether, leaving them in a darkness so thick even their Dwarven eyes struggled to pick out the details. They began to navigate by touch as well as sight, running their hands along the smooth rock walls and relying on their daemons to call out any dangers or sudden drops.

There seemed no end to it, and though Thorin strained and strained his ears for any hint of running water, all he could hear was the distant _drip, drip_ of rain water making its slow, steady way through porous rock.

They had a brief discussion as to what the rock was, but they quickly declared it limestone. The colour and formations of stalactites and stalagmites, and the way that the rock was alternately smooth and almost slimey and rough in turns was familiar to each of them. There was also a thread of something blue and glittering that occasionally ran through the walls, a gem that none of them recognised. Kíli, though, was sure it was similar to a type of blue, semi-precious fluorite that was found in the mountainous regions to the north of Arda. It was pretty enough, but without any real value.

Thorin had to eventually call a halt to their day, frustrated though he was that they had not found an exit. He had been almost looking forward to seeing something strange if it meant that they could move on to another setting, or another world. A Dwarf fed-up of being underground. Thorin had to marvel at that, but he couldn't help but feel a sense of disquiet in these tunnels, some sense of foreboding that he couldn't put his finger on.

Fíli put it into words as he prepared to take the first watch.

'It feels like we're waiting for something to happen,' he said, 'like we're on the verge of battle. But I've no idea who or what we're fighting.'

Thorin had to agree. It was that same feeling of anticipation that kept his senses sharp, ready for any hint of danger. He thought that this heightened level of awareness would have made it difficult to sleep, but surprisingly, for the first time in months, he did not have to fight for it, and it instead gently washed over him.

His hand, though, remained firmly on the hilt of Orcrist, even as he slept.

* * *

When he opened his eyes, he was stood in a forest clearing heavily cloaked in fog, the outline of the bare branches of the trees almost skeletal through the mist, arching high above his head.

There was a figure stood on the other side of the clearing. Thorin's heart skipped several beats in quick succession.

'Bilbo?' he said, voice breaking.

The figure, dressed in a simple, travel-worn shirt and trousers, turned at the sound of his name.

His own shock was reflected a thousand fold on Bilbo's face, and Thorin heard the hobbit gasp, even across the few metres that separated them.

Thorin started forward, desperate to clasp Bilbo's shoulder and know that he was real and not just a trick of the mind. But the second Thorin raised his arm Bilbo flinched backwards, skirting the edge of the clearing, fear now joining shock on his features.

'Are you…are you afraid of me?' said Thorin, movements stilling instantly.

Bilbo shook his head, his lips twisting into a bitter smile. 'Is it any wonder?' he said.

Thorin felt as though he had been gutted. His hand fell back to his side. For a few moments he couldn't speak at all for the breath lodged in his throat, heavy as a rock.

'How are you here?' he said eventually.

Bilbo's eyes flitted around the clearing, exhaustion shadowing his eyes. 'We're dreaming,' he said, looking pained, 'though don't ask me how that's possible.'

It didn't feel like they were dreaming. Their appearances, Bilbo's voice, the way that Thorin's heart was straining in his ribcage – all of it had a pin-sharp clarity that spoke of reality rather than dreams.

Thorin, remembering the Bilbo he had met only the day before, reached into his coat and drew out the bead. 'Do you recognise this?' he said, holding it out to Bilbo slowly, carefully.

'Of course I do,' said Bilbo warily, as though this was a trick question, and Thorin let out a ragged breath. The knowledge that he stood facing Bilbo beat around the inside of his skull, until he could barely think of anything else. It was him. It was _him_.

It was Bilbo's turn to step forward, his fear forgotten in favour of hearing the answer to his next question. 'Never mind that,' he said urgently, 'Thorin, tell me…is the Company alright? Are Kíli and Fíli?'

Of course, thought Thorin - Bilbo would have no idea who had lived and who had died.

'They live,' he said, observing the way Bilbo all but staggered in relief.

'And Bofur? All of them?'

'All of them.'

Bilbo fell silent, tilting his body away from Thorin and looking down to the bare forest floor.

'Thank goodness,' Thorin heard him whisper, passing a hand over his face, 'thank _goodness_.'

Thorin's eyes raked over Bilbo's frame, taking in the thinness of his wrists and the dark circles under his eyes. If this was Bilbo's spirit, then the hobbit did not look to be in good health. Was it because he was fighting to stay alive? Thorin wondered. Or was his spirit being affected by his real-world illness?

'What are you doing here, Thorin?' said Bilbo sharply, turning back to him, his relief carefully put aside.

'We are coming to save you.'

'We?'

'Kíli and Fíli have come, too.'

Bilbo shook his head. 'I thought so. I can only see you - I can't see them,' he said quietly, half to himself.

'Then you should know that-'

'No, I _don't_ know,' cut in Bilbo.

Thorin's hands open and closed at his side. He wanted to step closer, but he did not dare encroach on Bilbo's space again. He didn't think that he could stand to see fear flash through Bilbo's eyes a second time.

'Don't you want to live?' he asked, though he was terrified of the answer.

'Of course I do,' Bilbo answered in a breath, 'that's…don't ask me that. Of _course_ I do.'

'Then why don't you want us to come for you?'

Bilbo gave him a hard look.

'You don't owe me anything,' he said.

'Bilbo-'

'You don't owe me anything, and you made that _very_ clear the last time we…the last time we spoke.'

There was a strained pause. The air was so thick was tension that Thorin struggled to take a breath.

'I...Bilbo, however we parted, you must know that I would still honour-'

'Honour?' said Bilbo, ashen-faced, 'is that why you're doing this?'

'No-' started Thorin, but it was too late; something like resigned anger had settled over Bilbo's brow.

'Go back, Thorin. Go back while you still can.'

'I will not. I _cannot_.'

'You have to,' said Bilbo, and he sounded desperate, now. 'Don't go a step further.'

'I refuse,' Thorin said, and he didn't want to be angry but it was seeping into his tone all the same. 'I will not turn back.'

'You _have_ to.'

Bilbo took such a deep breath that Thorin saw his shoulders rise with the movement. Grief, or something like it, flared in his eyes, and with visible effort he said, in a weary voice:

'Do you even know why you're doing this?'

* * *

And Thorin flinched awake, his grip instinctively tightening on Orcrist.

A hand gripped his wrist and a voice called out his name; Thorin resisted for half a moment, the shifting, indistinct setting of his dream overlapping with the pale limestone of the underground, until Kíli's voice registered, and the world righted itself.

'Thorin?' said Kíli again. His nephew was hovering over him, Fíli doing the same on his other side.

'Alright, I'm awake,' said Thorin gruffly, trying to shake off the cold fog that seemed to cling to his skin.

Kíli's eyes snapped to Fíli and back to Thorin again. 'We couldn't wake you,' he said, accusatory.

Thorin sat up, and they backed away to give him space. 'I was simply sleeping deeply,' he said. He couldn't talk about his time with Bilbo. Not yet, at least.

Khael prowled around their sleeping space, restless, her tail straight out behind her. She did not look at Thorin, even as he got to his feet.

'No harm done,' said Lukhudith with forced lightness.

'Yes, let's be up and off,' said Nârù.

Thorin ignored them both. Bilbo's words were ringing in his head like the continuing echo of a struck bell, and the rest of the world was lost to him. He moved through his morning preparations mechanically, and began to lead them without a word to anyone. Khael fell into step with him, her stride long and purposeful, head low as though she were stalking prey.

Kíli and Fíli attempted to coax him out of his reverie with their chatter, but to no avail. His mind was churning with thoughts, and after a few hours in which Thorin refused to pause for a break, they gave up altogether, giving him his space.

Thorin was not aware enough to be appreciative of their thoughtfulness. He walked forwards without much attention paid to where he was going, replaying his and Bilbo's conversation over and over again in his head. The hobbit did want to live; Thorin could hear the truth to his words even now, hours later. He had seen it in the strain Bilbo carried from fighting to stay alive, strain that had etched itself into Bilbo's kindly face. He had looked exhausted, even from simply standing.

But above all, Bilbo's last words to him had shaken Thorin's resolve. Why was he doing this? It had been so clear to him when he had stepped into the darkness that first time. Bilbo was a member of the Company. He had helped to take back Erebor. Thorin was therefore honour bound-

But it wasn't just about honour, Thorin realised. He had carried with him a certainty that Bilbo's life could not – would not – end here, not if he had the power to change his fate. Bilbo deserved to live, no matter what Thorin now felt about the state of their friendship.

That was all there was to it.

'Is it just me,' said Kíli, 'or is it getting _darker_?'

'No, you're right,' said Fíli. 'It is.'

'How is that possible?' said Nârù.

'I'm not sure.'

Thorin blinked, coming slowly back to the world to find that Kíli was right – against all logic it _was_ darker. So dark, in fact, Thorin could now only faintly see the outlines of rock formations, and only when he strained his sight.

'Perhaps we should light the torches,' suggested Fíli.

'Let's see if it gets any worse,' said Thorin.

They quietened for a beat, recovering from their surprise at having their Uncle speak to them again.

'Can you still see?' Kíli asked of Nârù.

'Just about,' said his daemon.

'Perhaps we ought to let them guide the way for now. What do you think, Thorin?'

'Good idea.'

Their daemons stepped in closer, their flanks brushing their Dwarves' legs – or, in Khael's case, Thorin's waist. The feel of rough fur against his fingertips was a shock to Thorin, but he carefully paid it no mind, and Khael seemed to think nothing of it.

On and on they went. The _drip, drip_ that Thorin had heard only occasionally now followed them at every turn. Thorin never found the source, and no matter how far they progressed the sound seemed to be only a few steps away. A shiver ran down Thorin's spine.

The Dwarves' eyes could not cope with this new, complete darkness, with not even a hint of light. Even the vague suggestions of before vanished, and they were soon rendered blind, feeling their way over the slippery limestone rock by touch alone, their daemons nudging their legs every time they strayed.

But a few minutes later their daemons were struggling to see, and at last Lukhudith pulled up and refused to go any further.

'I can't see anything,' she said, 'I'm as blind as you are, Fíli.'

'We need to light the torches,' agreed Kíli.

Thorin felt – rather than saw – his nephews and daemons turn to him, awaiting his decision. As loathe as Thorin was to light their only fuel, he saw little choice.

'Very well,' he said. 'But we light just one at a time.'

Kíli, who had been storing the torches in his quiver, drew one out. Thorin took off one of his under layers and ripped it into strips. His tailor would likely have a fit over the waste of a finely crafted jacket, but to Thorin it was just a piece of cloth, and he was warm enough without it. He wound the strips around one end of the stick and passed it to Fíli, who used his own flint to light the material.

Bright light leapt from the torch, a merry little spark that soon grew to a healthy flame. It threw off a warm orange glow, and their hearts were instantly gladdened by it.

'That's better,' breathed Nârù.

'Much better,' said Lukhudith.

With their new light source, the going was much easier to bear, and their pace picked up again accordingly. It brought with it a sense of reassurance that allowed Thorin's mind to wander once more, and inevitably his thoughts turned to Bilbo – the Bilbo of their world – and how exhausted the hobbit had looked. Against his will, an idea flashed to the forefront of his mind:

How long could Bilbo keep fighting for? The hobbit couldn't keep fighting forever.

Drip, drip.

Where was the damn _exit_?

The flame spluttered. Thorin paid it no mind. He was too focused on choosing the next pathway, ducking down under an overhanging rock. The light from the torch fell on a series of stalactites, their shadows thrown out swiftly like lances across the floor of the tunnel.

Drip…drip.

His dream had sent his mind tumbling into chaos – anger now sharpened it. He couldn't let Bilbo die. He would _not_ let Bilbo die, and anything else they had touched upon during their conversation were just empty words, nothing more, and he must put them to one side for the sake of this journey.

Whatever Bilbo felt, whatever Thorin felt, whatever had happened between them was irrelevant. Thorin's reasons for wanting to save Bilbo were irrelevant. Nothing else mattered, save for rescuing Bilbo.

The darkness began to crowd the bright torchlight.

'Thorin,' said Fíli, alarmed, 'Thorin, I think the torch is going out-'

Thorin distractedly looked at the torch in his hand, turning to face his nephews. The fire was half the size it had been not so long ago. Kíli's and Fíli's worried faces could still just about be seen by the faint, flickering light.

'It is!' Kíli confirmed, 'was the wood wet? Has it burnt through the cloth already?'

'It wasn't wet when I lit it,' said Fíli, 'and there's still plenty more cloth to burn before the wood. Maybe it's the air in here? Maybe it's thinning?'

'No,' said Thorin, staring at the dying flame, 'it's the dark. It's suffocating it.'

'That's not possible,' began Nârù, but she didn't have a chance to finish.

The fire flared once, so suddenly that they had to shut their eyes against the brightness, and then went out altogether, plunging them into utter darkness.

Someone - Kíli, it sounded like - let out a curse in Khuzdûl. Thorin was inclined to agree. The dark was creeping up his back, sending his neck and shoulders crawling with the feeling of being watched. They were now blind and defenceless, and who knew what was out there, in the shadows.

'Fíli,' he said, 'can you light it again?' He held out the torch, expecting his nephew to reach out and take it, but nothing happened.

Khael began to growl, low and threatening.

'Fíli?' said Kíli.

'It can't smell him,' said Nârù, her voice edged with panic, 'I can't smell either of them. Kíli, Kíli-'

'Fíli!' said Thorin, concentrating fiercely with his other senses. No answer. His nephew's name echoed down the tunnel.

'Fíli? Come on, brother, this isn't funny,' said Kíli with a breathless laugh. Khael's growls grew to snarls, a deep, thrumming background noise to their growing worry.

'Kíli, they're gone,' said Nârù, and there came the sound of paws padding up and down the stretch of their tunnel, 'they're _gone_.'

Kíli all but shouted Fíli's name, and Thorin could feel him turning this way and that.

Breathing raggedly, Thorin reached out to where he thought Kíli might be. He connected with what felt like Kíli's shoulder, and he gripped it like a life line.

'Kíli, the torch, we need light - do you have any flint?'

Nârù's low whines where now threading through Khael's snarls.

'No, we need to find him, how could he just-'

'Kíli, the light - we need to be able to see,' said Thorin as calmly as he could manage, and Kíli's restless movements halted.

'Alright,' said his nephew, breathing sharply through his nose. The sound of fabric rustling and their breathing was deafeningly loud in the empty tunnel, and when Kíli - through touch alone - struck flint on stone and Thorin flinched at the sharp noise.

A bright spark leapt from the tinder, but it did not take to the cloth. Kíli struck again, and another spark issued and did not take. Kíli let out a sob and held his breath. He struck again, and at last the cloth began to burn.

The fire grew and grew, and as soon as it was big enough, Thorin twisted and turned in the tunnel with it held in his hand, looking into every fissure and fault. There was no sign of Fíli or his daemon.

'But he was standing right next to me,' said Kíli, 'he was _right there_! How could he have just vanished like that?'

'I don't know,' said Thorin, shaking his head sharply. 'But he can't have gone far - let's retrace our footsteps.'

Khael's growls had quietened when the torch had been lit. She now stepped in closer to Nârù, so close that their grey fur mingled and they appeared to be two wolves of similar size, striding side-by-side.

They went back the way they had come, trying to recall familiar rock formations or groupings of stalactites to help their way. They called out Fíli's name at regular intervals, straining to hear any faint reply.

Fifteen minutes passed without any hint of Fíli or Lukhudith.

'This isn't possible,' muttered Thorin to himself. Where on Arda _was_ he? How could he have disappeared without a whisper of a sound?

'Fíli! _Fíli_!' Kíli called, no longer bothering to wait for a reply. He sounded on the edge of full-blown panic.

The darkness crowded in on them, just as it had the torch. Thorin began to fear what lay beyond the ring of light thrown out by the fire. His daemon seemed to have similar reservations - unlike Nârù, who was now darting backwards and forwards, as far from Kíli as she could go, Khael was staying firmly within the circle of light. Thorin looked at her, taking in her watchfulness, the tense lines of her haunches.

'Kíli,' said Thorin, overcome with a sudden sense of foreboding, 'Kíli, stop calling for him.'

Kíli seemed not to hear him.

'_Kíli_,' said Thorin again, grabbing his nephew's arm. Kíli turned to him, eyes wide and looking as terrified as Thorin felt. 'Stop shouting for him.'

'Why?' said Kíli immediately, trying to wrench his arm away from Thorin's grip. 'We need to-'

'Because there may be _others_ listening.'

'What? What do you mean? Who's listening?'

'I don't know,' Thorin said, 'but don't you feel that? It's as though we're being watched.'

Kíli looked away, into the dark. A stale, dry wind rattled through the tunnel, ruffling the ends of his hair. 'So what do we do?' he said, restraining his panic with a visible effort. Nârù had returned to his side, pressing into his leg with her head.

'We look for him quietly, and only call out if we must,' said Thorin, 'agreed?'

Kíli gave a small nod.

'And stay within the torchlight. Do not wander off.'

_I can't bear losing both of you_, thought Thorin. He was barely holding onto his nerves as it was.

They began to retrace their steps methodically, going back over old ground. They conversed only in Iglishmêk when necessary, and only then when deciding which path to chose. Kíli became paler and paler as they walked, his jaw locked so tightly that Thorin could see a muscle tensed and bunching in his cheek.

Thorin lead the way with Khael, but he insisted on Kíli and Nârù walking by his side when the width of the tunnel allowed it. He would not let either of them out of his sight, and Khael appeared to agree; she flanked Nârù, who walked on Kíli's left side, so that Thorin and Khael protected them on both sides.

Thorin lost all track of time. Had it been mere minutes since they had lost Fíli, or hours? There was no end to it, and with every passageway that was shown to be empty, Thorin's fears multiplied. It felt as though there was an iron bar around his chest.

Then, out of the dark, they heard a scream.

'_Fíli_!' cried Kíli in an instant, forgetting all that he and Thorin agreed. He leapt forwards, body as tense as a bowstring.

The sound had pierced Thorin's breast. That was Fíli screaming, he was sure of it.

It took a great deal to make Fíli scream like that.

In the breath after the scream, the silence enclosed them once more. There was a moment of waiting, of waiting for something, anything else that might indicate where Fíli was, and when nothing came, Kíli darted forwards, into a tunnel, charging recklessly into the dark, Nârù following. Thorin called out to them, but it was of no use, and he was left with no choice but to follow them.

Kíli refused to stop, and it was all Thorin could do to keep him within the light of the torch. Khael overtook Thorin in powerful, long strides, and Thorin knew her intent: she was faster than Thorin, and could take a hold of Nârù's ruff and force her to stop. Oddly, the idea that Khael could physically stop Kíli did not seem to be an option.

Khael was almost upon Nârù when it happened again. Another scream tore through the tunnels, this one tempered with as much anger as pain. Its effect on Kíli was instantaneous, and he stopped mid-stride. He glanced around at what he could see, unsure as to which route to take. The scream could have come from any direction – the sound of it had been oddly distorted by the maze of tunnels. Fíli and Lukhudith could be right around the corner or miles away and they'd never know.

Trying to hold on to reason, Thorin stepped into Kíli's line of sight.

'Kíli, Kíli, _look at me_', he demanded, continuing only when Kíli did so, 'we cannot split up. If we are to find him then we _must_ go about this logically, or else we will wander these tunnels forever without any hope of ever finding him.'

'He's in _pain_, Uncle,' said Kíli, 'what are they doing to him?'

'I don't know.' Thorin didn't want to think about it. 'We _will_ find him, Kíli. But we need to stick together. Understood?'

'Alright,' said Kíli, through his shoulders rose and fell in great heaves.

'Come, this way,' said Thorin, taking them into the nearest tunnel, trying to map out the cave system in his head from the route they had taken so far. The mental map kept falling apart, though, every time he recalled Fíli's scream.

Wherever they went Thorin thrust the torch before them, seeking Fíli's figure in every shadow, searching for the bright gold of Lukhudith's fur at every turn.

More screaming, this time accompanied by a pained yelp, and Thorin heard Kíli let out an anguished cry. Thorin's nerves were in tatters, strained to breaking point, and his previously methodical movements became erratic. He stalked forwards, around a bend, the torch's light arcing out and around, filling the space with light, revealing it in its entirety.

And Thorin stood stock still, his veins filling with ice.

For there before him stood Frerin, his little brother, staring up at him with pale, dull eyes. He was dressed as he had been the last time Thorin had seen him, in the armour he had worn during the Battle of Azanulbizar. The armour that he had died in.

His cheeks were smeared with soot. His golden hair was mired in red blood and black blood and muck. His chest plate was drenched in more blood still, and rent on one side, revealing the gaping wound that had killed him.

Khael let out a low keening sound at Thorin's side. He could do nothing but stare at his brother, at the young dwarf who was caught on the cusp of adulthood, but who would never obtain it. Every muscle in his body was frozen.

Frerin's cracked, stained lips moved. 'Was it worth it, brother?' he said, and blood leaked from the edges of his mouth as he spoke. 'Was it worth it?'

'Thorin!' said Kíli suddenly, and Thorin and Khael whipped around at the sound of his name, the torch moving with him. He moved it back a second later, the light thrown out into the dark once more. Frerin had vanished as though he had never been there.

'Thorin, Nârù thinks she can smell them!' said Kíli, clearly oblivious to what Thorin had just seen and his Uncle's distress.

'Come on!' he said, hauling at Thorin's shoulder, 'this way!'

Dazed, Thorin let him lead, not even questioning it when Kíli took the torch from his hand. Khael ran beside him, her once effortless stride now hesitant. With Nârù in hot pursuit it was all Thorin and Kíli could do to keep up, not even caring as to what dangers they might stumble over. Their trail lead them to a huge, open space, filled with all manner of strange contortions in the rock, and as Nârù directed them down the nearest tunnel they all but ran into Fíli.

'Brother!' said Kíli, his relief and delight and worry all conveyed in that one word, 'where-'

But Thorin had seen the knife in Fíli's hand, had seen the way Lukhudith was snarling, teeth bared, and he grabbed Kíli before he could take another step.

'You!' growled Fíli, the dagger held out defensively in front of him. His wide eyes darted around the cave, and Thorin saw him swallow thickly.

Kíli all but threw off Thorin, staring incomprehensively at Fíli and the dagger held in his hand. 'Brother,' he said again urgently, 'are you well? We heard you scream, we...we feared the worst.'

Fíli's face twisted in distress, and a fine tremor ran through the arm holding the dagger. 'Tell me you're real!' he snapped, 'promise me you're real!'

'We're real,' said Thorin, holding out one empty hand as though Fíli were a spooked beast.

'How do I know that?' said Fíli brokenly. There was blood on his lips, Thorin saw, and he was forcibly reminded of Frerin's ghost. 'How do I know you're…you're not just some _trick_?'

Nârù started forward, body low and unthreatening. 'Lukhudith,' she said to Fíli's growling daemon, 'it's us. We've been looking for you.'

'Don't you recognise us?' said Kili.

'I don't…' started Fíli, shaking his head and grimacing, 'I don't trust you.'

'We're as real as you are, Fíli,' said Thorin, daring to take a step forwards and trying not to look at the dagger in Fíli's hand. Kíli hung back, unsure, swaying in place like he desperately wanted to reach for Fíli.

Fíli's whole body began to shake.

'I swear it, Fíli,' said Thorin soothingly. 'We're real, and we're not going to hurt you. There's no need to be afraid.'

Thorin was so close now that he could have taken a hold of Fíli's hand, wrenched the dagger from him, made sure that he did not hurt himself - or anyone else. But he refrained; the last thing Fili needed now was a real reason to be afraid, not when he looked to be functioning on a combination of terror and instinct. But though Thorin's movements were slow and careful, Fíli flinched when he realised how close Thorin was, and Thorin had to restrain every single battle-hardened instinct he had when Fíli's dagger flicked upwards accidentally.

'We were looking for you,' Thorin said, holding eye contact. 'You're safe, now. You're _safe_ .'

He took a chance, and reached out to draw Fíli into an embrace. At first Fíli remained tense, resisting the offer of comfort, and Thorin feared that he might still strike out at him. But then Fíli's whole body went limp, and his dagger fell from his lax grip to clatter to the floor.

Kíli stepped in, throwing his arms around Thorin and Fíli both. A single sob wracked Fíli's frame, and then no more. Khael and Nârù had all but done the same to Lukhudith, surrounding her and nuzzling into her, letting her know that there was no more reason to worry.

* * *

With Fíli and Lukhudith now relatively calm, Thorin insisted that he see to Fíli's injuries, sitting his sister-son down by the wall of the cave. But it turned out that Fíli had simply bitten the inside of his cheek so hard that he had drawn blood, which explained the blood on his lips. The palms of Fíli's hands, meanwhile, had crescent moons cut into them, just above where Fíli's leather gauntlets finished, and the wounds were bleeding sluggishly. Fíli's bloodied fingernail revealed exactly how the wounds had been inflicted. They had no water, and so Thorin was left with no choice but to spit on a spare bit of cloth to clean the cuts, going about it methodically and carefully, until Fíli's hands were clean once more.

Fíli bore Thorin's examinations with a detached air, staring past Thorin into the dark, his eyes watchful and still full of fear, never staying in one place for long. Lukhudith was burrowed into his side, and daemon and dwarf were still shaking slightly, but not from the cold. Thorin put his coat around Fili's shoulders all the same.

Kíli hovered uncertainly, at a loss for what to do. He tried sitting on Fíli's other side, pressing his arm to Fíli's, but his brother didn't even seem to notice the effort. Thorin reflected that if their positions had been reversed, Fíli would have known exactly what to do and say, or what Kíli would have needed.

None of them wanted to ask what Fíli had seen.

'We'll rest a while,' said Thorin, when the quiet had stretched on for too long. 'There's still a while until nightfall, but we'll see if we want to continue after a short break.'

The words, _if Fíli is well enough_ was left unsaid.

'Nightfall?' said Fíli with a faint frown, blinking out of his reverie for a moment. His voice sounded as though he had been gargling glass, and with a start Thorin realised why – his throat must be raw from screaming.

'But I was…I was gone for half a day at least.'

Thorin and Kíli looked at each other, alarmed.

'Fíli,' said Kíli carefully, 'you were gone for an hour at most. And even that was long enough,' he added bitterly.

'An hour?' echoed Fíli quietly. 'That doesn't make any sense. It was definitely longer than that.'

None of it made sense, and Thorin struggled to relate it to anything he knew or experienced before. Even the surreal landscape of Mirkwood had had its rules.

Fíli lapsed into silence, eyes losing their focus, sliding away from Kili and Thorin. They watched him carefully, neither of them wanting to move on just yet. Fíli looked exhausted, and they could all do with a rest.

The minutes ticked by, counted only by the fire steadily eating its way through the torch still held in Kíli's hand. Eventually, whatever tension that had been keeping Fíli going started to seep from his body, and Thorin saw him slowly succumb to sleep. Lukhudith had, by this stage, all but clambered onto Fíli's lap, though she was so large only her front half could fit. Her nose was buried into the front of his jacket, and Fíli's arms were wrapped around her so tightly that it surely must be causing her pain.

Thorin thought of his little brother's ghost, seen only for a split-second, and tried to repress a shudder. Had he really seen Frerin, or had it been a trick of the mind? If there was evil lurking in these tunnels, then it seemed to prey on their worst nightmares. He felt sick at the thought of what Fíli might have seen. Whatever had caused him to cry out like that, it had not been any physical wound.

'Is this our penance?' said Kíli into the unquiet dark, looking at his brother.

Thorin drew in a breath.

'There is nothing for you and Fíli to make penance for.'

'No. There is,' said Kíli firmly, voice steely. 'We stood by and did nothing when you…'

It didn't need to be said, but Thorin flinched all the same.

Thorin had no idea what to say to that, and Kíli's words were left uncomfortably hanging in the air between them. Thorin desperately wished that his sister were here. She had always been so much better at comfort than Thorin. He could distinctly remember her caring for him and Dwalin and Balin in the aftermath of Azanulbizar, the way that her hands had been gentle even as she tried to restrain her overwhelming grief, and her anger.

But Thorin was certain of one thing. If this _was_ penance, then it was penance for him, not for Kíli and Fíli.

Perhaps this journey wasn't just about saving Bilbo after all.

* * *

**A/N: I've been a bit remiss in stating what the boys' daemons are! I'm sorry, I forgot to put this little author's note at the end of the first chapter:**

**Thorin's assumption that both of the boy's daemons are wolves is not quite right. For clarification, their daemons are as follows:**

**Thorin: Grey Wolf**

**Fili: Golden Jackal**

**Kili: Coyote**

**I hope that clears things up, and thank you for all the lovely reviews!**


	5. Chapter Four

When Fíli stirred, an hour after their reunion, Thorin and Kíli made sure they were both busy doing other things – Kíli looking to his bow, Thorin ripping up the last parts of his jacket to make another torch. Neither Kíli nor Thorin wanted to hover over Fíli - they knew such attention would be unwelcome, but Fíli glanced at them only once as he rose, still as pale as a ghost, and he handed Thorin's coat back to him without a word.

'Fíli,' started Kíli hesitantly, 'we can always-'

'I'm fine,' said Fíli, summoning up a vague smile, looking somewhere over Kíli's left shoulder.

Kíli looked to Thorin, to Lukhudith, and back to Fíli again, fear and worry overshadowing his eyes. He opened his mouth to protest, to insist that they rest some more, but after a moment of indecision he held his tongue.

There was still an hour or two before nightfall, by Thorin's reckoning, and he hoped that walking would help Fíli to focus on something else, rather than stewing on his own thoughts. They were deathly quiet as they set off from their resting place. Kíli brought up the rear, Thorin taking the lead as usual. Lukhudith was all but glued to Fíli's side, so close that she was surely in danger of tripping him up.

With another two hours of walking ahead of them, with no discernible end in sight, Thorin found it hard not to let his frustration, or his helplessness over Fíli's ordeal show as he walked. His nephews were relying on him to lead them. He couldn't show them that he was afraid that they might never leave this place, and that there might be worse things ahead.

But then Thorin lead them out of a claustrophobic tunnel, and they found themselves standing in a huge, spacious cavern, and what they found there gave them pause.

For there, high above their heads, was a huge body of water suspended perfectly on the ceiling of the cave. It was as though they were looking at a clear, deep lake, its surface so calm that it looked like a highly polished mirror. They could see themselves reflected in the water, a grouping of three Dwarves and three wolves, all in various stages of exhaustion, peering up at the impossible thing with wide, disbelieving eyes.

'Is it…is it going to fall on us?' said Kíli worriedly.

'I'm not sure,' said Thorin, tense. He couldn't tear his eyes away from their reflection, despite knowing that it would be safer to move on. If the water suddenly decided to conform to logic and descend on them, its weight would surely cause them harm.

'Look,' said Fíli, 'the cave…the reflection of the cave…it's changing.'

And it was. The pale, subtle stone of the cave floor shifted before their very eyes, the water rippling, shadows overlapping and reforming, colours brightening to earthy tones, and were those roots that Thorin could see? And the trunks of great trees?

If the reflection was to be believed, they were now standing in the middle of a forest.

A horn blast in the distance caused them to flinch, tearing their eyes away from the lake, and with a startled gasp Thorin turned in place, his nephews and their daemons doing the same. Gone was the cave, gone was the lake, and in their place were twisting, tall trees, their bark a rusty dark brown, their branches long and trailing, weaving together to create an almost architectural canopy above their heads. It was just starting to snow, too, the first few flakes gently landing on his shoulders and paling the forest floor.

But Thorin had no time to wonder at the all-too familiar trees, or the onset of snow, for they were stood before a set of huge gates, set into a hill, the heavy wood emblazoned with an elaborate set of antlers in gilded gold. The symbol was elegant and curling, the work of a master blacksmith, and utterly unmistakable.

Mirkwood. They were in Mirkwood.

Thorin could see the trepidation in Fíli and Kíli's eyes. Mirkwood had not been a pleasant experience for any of them, and though Thorin and the Elvenking had parted on something approaching amicable terms, he was hardly at ease before the very same place where he had been held prisoner and interrogated.

Another horn blast, and the sound of clattering hooves. Thorin's eyes darted around the space, torn between the urge to flee and the desire to stand his ground. He had retreated from Thranduil's forces too many times in one lifetime for his Dwarven pride to bear.

But within the space of a heartbeat, the decision was taken from him. A company of Elves rounded the corner, and Thorin, Kíli and Fíli instinctively moved into a circle, back to back, their wolves growling warily at their sides. Two members of the party were riding in the lead, and as they approached the Dwarven huddle they smoothly dismounted from their horses with fluid Elven grace, one of them steadying her excited horse.

Thorin recognised both of them. His hand started to creep towards the dagger that sat in his belt.

'Prince Thorin!' said Prince Legolas, striding towards them, colour high on his cheeks from the ride and the hint of a warm smile on his lips. Behind him the rest of his party began to dismount, either purposefully or accidentally surrounding them as they did so. A hunting party, if the game strapped to the back of the horses was anything to go by.

Thorin all but snarled to hear his name used so jovially by someone who had threatened him not so long ago. But there was no hint of cold, ruthless aggression on this Legolas' face, and his bow stayed firmly on his back, and Thorin had to remind himself that this was not the Legolas of his world. This Legolas did not appear to harbour any hatred towards them.

'I did not think we would be seeing you for another week,' said Legolas, oblivious to the tension his presence had caused, 'had we known you were coming, we would have made sure you had a grander welcome than a dirty, tired hunting party.'

The Elves did not look dirty, or tired. They looked pristine as they ever were. The other lead rider, the female elf, handed the reins of her horse over to another and joined Legolas.

'Though it does mean that we shall have enough to satisfy even Dwarven hunger,' said the elf with a quick smile and a low bow. By her red hair and the short daggers at her belt, Thorin knew her to be Tauriel, Captain of the Guards.

Thorin, unable to respond to this amicable banter, so unlike anything he had previously experienced, was saved by Kíli, who stepped forward to say,

'I think you'll need another hunting party for that,' he scoffed, but Thorin could hear the tremor underlying his tone.

Tauriel's fleeting smile bloomed into an outright grin. 'Perhaps you could join us next time, should your business not constrain your time here.' Her eyes flicked curiously to the wolves at their sides. 'You seem to have come prepared. Are these hunting dogs?'

Thorin very distinctly heard Nârù let out an indignant yelp at that, which Kíli had to cover by pretending to cough.

Tauriel frowned. 'Are you unwell, Your Highness?' she said, eyes darting back to Legolas worriedly. Her concern was surely excessive, Thorin thought with a great deal of annoyance. It was only a cough.

'No, just…something stuck in my throat,' said Kíli with a glare at Nârù. He pressed a hand to her head and said, 'and to answer your question: yes. Yes they are. Newly bred in Erebor.'

Thorin had a distinct feeling that their daemons would have something to say about that, as soon as they were able. As it was Nârù nipped at Kíli's leg in reprimand, but she thankfully held her silence for now.

'Well, keep them away from the horses, if you please,' said Tauriel, 'they look vicious. Have you bred them with _wolves_?'

'Something like that,' muttered Fíli, his hand idly patting Lukhudith's neck.

'You have come without much in the way of an entourage,' said Legolas, thankfully moving their conversation away from their daemons. His gaze alighted briefly on their travel stained clothes, and the obvious lack of mounts, and Thorin saw confusion – quickly covered up - flicker over the elf's face. 'Was your visit urgent? Do you need to see my father straight away? He is in counsel, now, but-'

'No!' said Thorin a little too forcefully, and then got a hold of his voice, 'no, not at all. We merely…wanted to travel without much fuss. That was the only reason.'

'Well, then, we'll have someone show you to your usual rooms,' said Tauriel, 'and we'll let our King and Queen know you have arrived as soon as we can. It was good to see you again,' she added politely, but Thorin took note of the way her eyes lingered over Kíli when she said this, and a low anger began to burn in his gut.

'I will see you at dinner, Prince Thorin,' said Legolas, 'I have a book that I am certain you will find interesting. I shall bring it to the table.'

He dipped his head in acknowledgement, and Tauriel bowed once more, and they moved away to help with the horses, leaving Thorin to try and rearrange everything he knew about Mirkwood's Elves in his head. Another elf stepped forwards and he tensed, but the elf's hands were free of weapons, and he was merely gesturing inside. This must be their guide, then.

Thorin looked out, beyond the hunting party, into the dark of Mirkwood. This was their last chance to flee. The great gates were opening. Guards, dressed in gleaming armour, were appearing to help take the horses inside. They could slip out now and no one would ever know.

But the tugging at his heart was, much to Thorin's consternation, not coming from Mirkwood, but from inside Thranduil's Kingdom.

'What do we do?' hissed Kíli, ignoring the now slightly confused guide.

'We go in,' said Thorin under his breath.

'We _do_?'

'Yes,' said Thorin though gritted teeth.

'This way, Your Highnesses,' said the guide politely.

And Thorin saw no choice but to follow, and he loathed every step he took into enemy territory.

* * *

They were lead away from Tauriel and Legolas, to what Thorin could only assume was the guest wing of the palace. He remained tense throughout the ordeal, his mind at war with his heart as they were lead deeper and deeper into Thranduil's kingdom.

Their guide eventually stopped before a set of elaborate doors, bracketed by merrily blazing torches.

'You will find your rooms much as they were last time you were here, Your Highnesses,' said the elf. 'I must apologise that there is no food on the table, but if you are hungry, we can arrange for some to be brought before the evening meal.'

'That won't be necessary,' said Thorin. His stomach ached in protest, his hunger returned to him a thousand-fold, but he wanted to be free of Elves as soon as he could.

The elf nodded. 'Very good. And, as ever, we can wash your travelling clothes for you. Just leave them in the usual place and we will be happy to take care of them. I will take my leave of you now, unless there is anything else-'

'No. You are dismissed,' Thorin said tersely.

The elf took no offence to the shortness of his tone. He gave a low bow and finally, thankfully, left them in peace.

'Thorin,' said Kíli slowly, 'are we…are we _friends_ with the Elves?'

Thorin shot him a glare. The same thought had crossed his mind, but he could not accept it. In lieu of answering Kíli's question, he opened the doors. What was revealed was a wide, open living space, elegantly decorated with rich, heavy red drapes and colourful tapestries of hunting scenes. Several alcoves set into the walls held stiffly-posing Elven statues, each one a holding lantern in their hands. A long, _dwarf_-sized dining table and chairs were set up to one side, in a patch of naturally-occurring light that fell from a gap in the ceiling, and to the left lay a corridor that lead away to another set of rooms – presumably their private rooms.

'We have our own _rooms_,' said Fíli faintly, having stepped in far enough to look down the corridor.

Kíli let out a laugh that sounded far too strained. 'Better than our last set of rooms, eh?' he said, nudging Fíli in his side. Fíli gave a fleeting half-smile in response, and Kíli's attempt at a grin slipped from his face.

Thorin strode past them both to try one of the doors. Behind it lay a huge bedroom, complete with a four poster bed, a writing desk and chair, two heavy chests, and a set of wardrobes, all in the same dark wood. The wardrobes and chests, when he opened them, contained shelf after shelf of Dwarven outfits, all neatly tidied away. Thorin plucked a couple of them out at random, and found that the wardrobes contained everything from simple leather hunting jackets and tunics, to more elaborate courtly fashions and luxurious furs. The fit of the tunic he had in his hand suggested a slimmer Dwarf than Thorin. Kíli's room, then.

Thorin told him as such, and Kíli was there in a moment to investigate, Nârù pushing her nose into the wardrobe to sniff curiously at the clothing.

'Definitely ours,' she declared.

'And this one's mine,' said Fíli, on the threshold of another room. Lukhudith was at his side, and Thorin observed that while Fíli was looking in to his room, she was watching Thorin and Kíli with sharp eyes.

Thorin looked to his own daemon, but found that Khael was already at the end of the corridor, stood expectantly by a room that Thorin presumed was his. Begrudgingly, Thorin could admit that the clothes he found in the room's heavy trunks and in the wardrobes were all things he would wear, if he were visiting foreign royalty. But the very fact that they had such complete outfits permanently in Mirkwood implied that they were used to staying in Thranduil's halls - and for long periods, too. Such a fact did not sit well with Thorin at all.

Putting aside speculation for a moment, there was an advantage to having perfectly-tailored clothes to hand - they were all desperately in need of a change of clothes. They had each been armed when they had left Erebor, but they had also been dressed in far more elaborate clothes than a journey like theirs called for. Before Thorin's very eyes were tunics and jackets and coats that were all much more suited to a long journey, and his travel-stained clothes could do with being refreshed.

He would keep his own armour; he did not trust any armour or weapons that he found in stored in the room. But his tunic and breeches were exchanged for new, and more importantly _clean_ ones – they were not anything particularly fancy, but instead something he suspected the Thorin of this world would wear to hunt in. Thorin had no idea when they would be moving on, after all, and they needed to be ready and prepared at any moment for a change in circumstance.

Task complete, and feeling much better for it, Thorin selected a heavy, furred coat from the chest at the foot of the bed. Khael pressed her nose to the fur briefly when he pulled it free of the chest, giving a low bark of what sounded like approval to Thorin's ears.

When he re-entered the hall, he found that Kíli and Fíli had had the same idea, and were now wearing a fresh set of clothes each. Kíli was pacing around the perimeter, looking interestedly at the tapestries, wearing a new long coat that was intricately embroidered with geometric patterns at the hem, and a new set of boots. Nârù, meanwhile, was sitting by Lukhudith, Lukhudith in turn laying at Fíli's feet. Fíli was sat at the table, fiddling with the sleeves of the thick jacket – in deep, crimson red – that sat on his shoulders.

'Are we to impersonate ourselves, then?' said Kíli when he saw Thorin enter. 'This is a stranger world than the last one.'

'It would seem so,' said Thorin, taking a seat.

'At least the Kíli of this world has good taste,' said Kíli, looking down at his coat. He glanced over at his brother. 'Not too sure about Fíli, though.'

'Speak for yourself,' Fíli said tiredly, 'I think you'll find this is very fashionable in Erebor.'

Kíli laughed, far harder than such a weak joke called for. Thorin's felt his heart settle a little.

'And _we'll_ be relegated to hunting dogs, I suppose,' said Nârù with a sigh.

'It was the best I could think of at short notice,' said Kíli apologetically.

'It was quick thinking, Kíli,' Thorin said, and Fíli murmured his agreement. 'Even if it is undignified, I don't think we have any other way of hiding you without suspicion. I am sorry, Khael.'

Khael merely gave a small growl of derision, as though the whole thing were beneath her.

'Sorry,' said Kíli to Nârù. Fíli, meanwhile, stroked a thumb over one of Lukhudith's ears in apology.

'It's alright,' said Nârù. 'But don't blame me if I have a moment of forgetfulness and let something slip.'

'Duly noted,' said Thorin dryly.

'But back to our problem…the Elves seem to think we are their friends. Allies,' Kíli amended at Thorin's look. 'Do you think…do you think that, in this world, Smaug never came to the mountain?'

'What makes you say that?' said Thorin, frowning at him.

'It's the only reasonable explanation for this madness,' said Fíli for Kíli, glancing at his brother. 'If Smaug never came, then we'd still be allies with Thranduil.'

But Thorin was shaking his head even before Fíli had finished. He hated to disprove his nephew's theories, particularly when Fíli was opening up again after his ordeal in the tunnels, but neither Kíli nor Fíli knew the exact nature of the alliance that had once existed between Mirkwood and Erebor.

'No,' he said, 'it's more than that. Thranduil's son would not have welcomed us so warmly into his home, even if that were true and we _were_ still allies. The Elves hated us.'

'Even before-'

'Even before Smaug.' Thorin said firmly. He could hear the unanswered question hovering in the air, could sense Kíli's curiosity. He shifted uncomfortably and continued, 'Thrór…Thrór was not…my grandfather and the Elvenking allied out of necessity – or it was necessity for Thranduil, at least. Thrór never let him forget the power of Erebor, how Erebor's riches far outstripped Thranduil's. Nor did he let him forget the terrible history that our two races share.'

'Well…as unlikely as it is,' said Kíli, attempting to absorb this new piece of information, 'and whatever the reason, we're welcome in Thranduil's kingdom.'

'We must take advantage of this,' said Thorin, 'Legolas thought our arrival was strange, but he did not question our presence here.'

'But why _are_ we here?' said Nârù, 'in the last world we met Bilbo, which I can understand – he's the whole reason we're on this quest, after all! But why put us right in the middle of our enemy's Kingdom?'

'I have no idea,' Thorin said lowly. 'Perhaps this is a test of our patience,' he added, only half-serious.

'I think your patience is about to be tested further,' said Fíli, looking to the half-open doors.

Their Elven guide was stood in the doorway, and he bowed politely when he had their attention. 'The evening meal will be served soon,' he said, 'but first my King and Queen would like to greet you properly, if you are amenable. This way, please.'

* * *

If their guide thought it odd that their wolves accompanied them to dinner, he showed no sign of it. With great trepidation, Thorin and his nephews followed the elf through the sprawling palace grounds, and Thorin was glad that Khael was padding along at his side. Orcrist was too conspicuous to take to the dinner table, and Thorin would have to make do with the two daggers that sat in his belt, but Khael, he was beginning to realise, was a formidable weapon in her own right. They would not be going to Thranduil unarmed.

The brightly-lit passage ways were wide and open, decorated with beautifully engraved archways, winding vines twining their way through the stone architecture to lend the brown-grey rock a festive look. It was a far cry from their last visit, when a heavily-armed guard had flanked them on all sides and lead them through some of the lesser-used routes to the throne room, so that the Company saw as little of Thranduil's kingdom as possible.

But their destination was not the cavernous, imposing throne room, designed to inspire awe; instead they found themselves in what Thorin could only assume was an anteroom that lay not far from Thranduil's throne. The architecture and style was similar in design, but the space was greatly reduced, and without the sudden drop. It was here that Thorin found himself once again in front of the Elvenking, and he could not shake the feeling that he was a prisoner of this kingdom, though his hands remained unshackled and free.

Thranduil was not alone. On the raised dais at the far end of the room stood the tall, regal form of the Elvenking. At his side stood a woman who nearly equalled him in height. She was clothed in greens and silvers, in a heavy, finely-tailored dress with an intricately embroidered cloak over the top, which was clasped at one shoulder with a huge, glittering amber jewel. Her long, unbound, red-gold hair fell to her waist in a shimmering wave. Her features were delicate, her chin and nose sharp, but there was a tilt to her full lips, a sparkle in her grey eyes that hinted of humour beyond her otherwise expressionless face.

There was a crown sat upon her pale brow, made from wood and silver, decorated with bright red berries and metal that had been made to look like leaves.

Thorin heard Kíli suck in a breath beside him. So this was the Queen of Mirkwood, then.

'Greetings, Prince Thorin, Your Highnesses,' said the King, stepping forwards and off of the dais. Thorin squared his shoulders and gritted his teeth. Thranduil's pale blue eyes flickered over the forms of Thorin, Kíli and Fíli, and then their daemons. As ever, Thorin couldn't hope to read his expression.

'King Thranduil,' Thorin said in as even a tone as he could manage.

'We did not know you had changed your plans,' said the Queen in a light, musical voice, coming to join her husband, but stepping forwards a few more paces.

'A raven bearing a message may have been helpful,' Thranduil said evenly.

'But you are welcome here, as you always are,' said the Queen, a shadow of a smile playing about her lips.

'A note for the future,' said Thranduil in that same smooth tone. A beat of silence passed. He appeared to be waiting for a response from Thorin. When none came he continued, 'my Captain has informed me that you have brought with you some…rather unusual company.'

'Yes,' said Fíli, finding his voice, 'they're hunting dogs.'

'You seem much attached to them,' said the Queen with a note of curiosity.

'It's…it's the bonding process,' said Kíli, and Thorin could almost hear him making it up as he went along, 'they have to stay close so they can…form a bond.'

'I see,' Thranduil said, and there was a world of hidden meaning in just those two words. Thorin began to tense, wondering if this ruse were truly possible, or if they should have never bothered trying to deceive the ever-suspicious Elvenking.

'Perhaps you will find use for them,' said the Queen, 'I am sure my son will invite you all hunting as soon as he is able. But for now, I am certain you are hungry after your travels.' She looked up, behind Thorin, nodding to one of the waiting attendants. 'I believe the evening meal is ready. I hope you are hungry,' she added with a look to her husband, 'we have quite a feast on offer for you.'

'Dwarves are always hungry,' said Thranduil, 'you need not ask the question at all.'

'And Elves are always ready to drink themselves drunk at a moment's notice, in my experience,' said Thorin before he could restrain himself. The Queen's smile widened, becoming a full-blown grin.

Thranduil, to Thorin's astonishment, merely raised one brow at this remark and said, 'indeed. I am sure we will both find ourselves satisfied by this feast, then.'

* * *

Thranduil and his Queen had put on a feast as fine as any Thorin could remember in Erebor, in the days before the dragon came. The Rivendell Elves might have been satisfied by greenery and vegetables, but Thranduil's people were evidently not. Rich smoked meats and glorious roasts were brought out in an endless stream from the kitchens, filling up the long feasting tables and accompanied by heady, full-bodied red wine. The great hall was full of Elves of both genders, and every seat available was taken. Thorin could only assume that these were Thranduil's Lords and Ladies, and that there were members of his Guard here, too. He wondered, morbidly, how many Elves in the room had survived the Battle of the Five Armies in his world.

Thorin, Fíli and Kíli were sat at the high table, in places of honour beside the Queen, the King and Prince Legolas. Tauriel, as Captain of the Guards, was seated to Kíli's left, and engaged him in conversation as soon as they sat down. Their daemons, meanwhile, sat as close to their chairs as possible, wary of being accidentally trodden on by the large numbers of waiters and attendants who were serving food and wine most generously.

While Thranduil and his Queen were distracted by Legolas, Fíli bent his head to Thorin and whispered, 'so that's Thranduil's wife, then.'

'It would appear so.'

'What happened to her in our world?'

But Thorin shook his head sharply. Now was not the time for speculation, not when they were sat so close to Thranduil.

Over the first course, Prince Legolas tried to draw Thorin into a conversation about a book he had found in Mirkwood's library. Thorin listened with half an ear, watching Thranduil and the Queen intently, and giving small murmurs of assent when he thought the conversation called for it. Legolas, sensing his conversational partner was not exactly paying attention, let the subject drop, much to Thorin's relief, and Thorin found he could devote his time to wary observation instead. Fíli held some of his attention – unlike his brother, who was digging into his food with a gusto, Fíli only glanced at the trays of meats and breads and sauces in front of him. Thorin himself was only picking at his food half-heartedly, as no matter hungry he was, partaking of food in the heart of Thranduil's kingdom left a bitter taste in the mouth. Unease and worry flared in his chest, and he vowed to keep a close eye on Fíli over the next few days.

The rest of Thorin's attention was centred on Thranduil and his Queen. Thranduil was looking – dare he say it – _relaxed_, his features as carefully blank as ever, and yet there was a lightness to his bearing, and once or twice Thorin caught the barest suggestion of a smile when his son was drawn into their conversation.

At the other end of the table, Kíli sat stiffly in his chair, straight-backed and unsure as to how to act in the face of Tauriel's friendly smiles.

'Would you like to go hunting with us tomorrow, Kíli?' asked Tauriel at one point, leaning forwards slightly to catch Fíli's eye. 'You too, Fíli.'

'And…would we be hunting…deer?' hedged Kíli.

Tauriel frowned slightly. 'Yes. What else would we be hunting?'

Kíli shrugged. 'Spiders.'

Legolas' eyebrows rose and Tauriel let out a snort. 'Spiders? Where on earth did you get _that_ idea?'

'Is this another archery-related challenge?' said Legolas, 'are we to hunt spiders now to prove our prowess? They are small targets, after all.'

'But remember how your last challenge turned out, Kíli,' warned Tauriel with humour. 'We don't want a repeat of that, do we?'

Fíli and Kíli looked at each other, confused and utterly lost. Kíli let out a small, strained chuckle. 'No, we don't. Just a…just a joke. Ha ha.'

'Would you like to join us, then?'

Fíli turned his head just enough to see Thorin's nod of confirmation. A glance towards Kíli let his brother know they had Thorin's blessing, and then to Legolas he said, 'we would be honoured.'

* * *

By the time the sweets arrived, Thorin was all but ready to flee the hall, etiquette be damned. Khael shifted at his feet, echoing his restlessness. He had, for the most part, been left alone by Thranduil and Legolas, but just as he was making a show of eating this last course, the Queen turned to him.

'I do hope the reason for your visit is not urgent,' she said, 'I know it is not appropriate to speak of such things while we are eating, but I must know – have you arrived early because there have been any…developments in Óin's work?'

She might have been talking nonsense, for all Thorin knew. But the concern on her face and in her gestures was genuine, and Thorin caught on enough to know that he should answer in the negative.

'No, there has not,' Thorin said, and saw her relax marginally. 'We simply wanted…a break from court life,' he added, the words sounding forced, even to his own ears.

The Queen inclined her head gracefully. 'I understand. I am surprised Princess Dis did not decide to join you.'

'She was otherwise engaged,' said Thorin stiffly.

'A pity,' said the Queen. 'Ah, good!' she said, turning away suddenly to look to the far end of the fall, where a male elf was stood, flanked by musicians. 'Aeglos has a song for us this evening.'

As if the evening couldn't get any worse, thought Thorin, as the hall fell silent and the elf began to sing. The elf had a good voice, Thorin could begrudgingly admit, but his song was oddly mournful, full of highs and lows and longing, at odds with the otherwise merry gathering.

He wasn't the only one who thought so. When the elf's song drew to a close, a ripple of polite applause ran through the crowd, and Thranduil said, in a voice as dry as dust,

'Thank you, Aeglos. But I would like something a little more mournful, next time. That was far too cheering.'

The Queen had to take a sip of wine to cover up her smile. The singer, Aeglos, gave a little 'harumph' of indignation.

'Just lovely,' said the Queen, 'thank you.'

And with that, at long last, their ordeal was at an end, and they could retire to their own private rooms, away from Elves and their double meanings. Thorin had never been so grateful to rise from his seat. But before Thorin could take his leave of the hall, Thranduil made sure to catch him for one last word.

'We have much to discuss,' said Thranduil. 'Tomorrow, after the noon meal?'

Thorin gave a small nod. He sorely hoped that they would have moved on to another world – any world – by then.


End file.
